


Broken Haven

by RainFox88, Ravenprincess



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breeding, Bunker Ending (Far Cry), Bunker Life, Canon-Typical Violence, Conditioning, Creampie, Delusions, Deputy and Joseph learning to live with each other, Deputy becomes Judge, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Guilt Stricken Deputy, Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Joseph's got his work cut out for him, Marriage, Mentioned Faith Seed, Mentioned Jacob Seed, Mentioned John Seed, Mild Language, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Prophetic Visions, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resist Ending (Far Cry), Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, but she also sassy and gives Joseph headaches, seriously this Deputy is sassy, she tests his patience ALOT, they bump heads alot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainFox88/pseuds/RainFox88, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenprincess/pseuds/Ravenprincess
Summary: As the world they knew burns to ash above their heads, Joseph Seed and the Deputy are at crossroads with each other. The Deputy tries to cope with the loss of her family and friends, the sins she has done, and must learn to live with her enemy. Joseph has a revelation of their purpose and what they must do before stepping out into the light in seven years. Because in this broken haven, they need each other to rebuild a new world and a new life.





	1. Silence

### Chapter 1: Silence

She had heard the phrase “the silence is deafening” before. She never really took it into context until now. The slight chill to the air, the thumping of her heart in her ears, the faint _tick tick tick_ of a clock some rooms down, the utter quiet as the world burned above, it all drove her to the edge.

She didn’t know how many days had passed since Joseph Seed brought her down into Dutch’s bunker, but she could no longer hear the destruction above. The lights still flickered now and again, but the rumbling of the earth and toppling of trees had ceased. The radio announcements went silent, only white noise filtering through the stations.

The dim-lit bunker was home to two now, for the next however many years. But the Junior Deputy hadn’t seen her forced roommate and captor in hours…maybe days if the growling in her stomach was anything to go by.

After Joseph reveled in the fact that he was right all along, that they were now a family and would walk together to Eden’s Gate after the Collapse was over, he disappeared; dematerialized like a shadow humming faint traces of Amazing Grace. He dragged Dutch’s body away, and she could only watch and say a prayer and apology to her dead friend as he was taken. She had no idea what the Father did with him, and really didn’t want to know. But silence enveloped the bunker after that.

Rook remained handcuffed to the foot of the bed, her cuffs locked between the metal frame. The most she could do was sit on the cold concrete floor or lay on the bed backwards with her arms pulled over the side, neither very comfortable.

She remained alone even as she cried and fought and nearly broke her hand trying to get free. But he always showed up when she was nearly passing out from hunger, nearly pissing herself from holding her bladder. Like a phantom he hovered over her, eyes still burning with hate and bitterness and some kind of twisted adoration and affection. She didn’t understand why he just didn’t kill her. She had seen him reach his hands out to choke her before, witnessed the chilling desire to kill as his fingers twitched. But he always stopped himself.

He wouldn’t say a word to her. He’d just feed her or take her to the restroom with a gun to her head. And then lock her back up at the same spot and disappear again.

In the unknown span of time since she last saw Joseph, she went in and out of consciousness and woke up sobbing. She thought she heard Joseph crying and cursing rooms down from her at one time, but when she stirred long enough to listen, the bunker became still and soundless once again.

Maybe he had killed himself and the cries of grief she heard were hauntings of his final breaths. Maybe she would waste away slowly until she, too, died. The thought terrified her. She tugged at the handcuffs, as useless as it was. It was bad enough being alone with her thoughts. Thinking about her family and friends that were most likely dead. Thinking about how the Father had been right all along and tried to warn her. That all her actions, all of her decisions, to fight back against Eden’s Gate were futile. All the people she had killed to save others…everyone ended up suffering, and now she was being punished for it. This was her hell.

She thought she was doing the right thing. She didn’t want to kill anyone, she did it to save her friends, to save victims of the cult. But each side, each faction, was wrong. The way they fought and made war for their causes was wrong. She was wrong. The only one who ended up being right in all of this was the Father, and even he had done so much wrong to end up right.

Rook was frightened to think of what would become of her. She thought death would be a nice release, not this hell she was in right now. Joseph spouted that he and her were a family now, but there was nothing tying them together except for cruel fate and a twisted form of irony. She wanted to kill him and he wanted to kill her, so why was he also so obsessed with making her his family?

_You took his family away from him…_

She closed her eyes. They had hurt each other, damaged each other further than what they already were. Maybe it would be better if they did just kill each other down here and release them from this agony that consumed them. The world was over, what was the point?

By how she was nearly passing out from hunger and thirst told her it was the longest span of time since Joseph checked on her last. Part of her wanted to cry out for him, plead him to come to her. The other part wanted to stay silent, let the hunger and the thirst waste her away to nothing so she could finally die.

The grating of a chair on concrete roused her. She looked over, saw Joseph sitting down with a plate of food in one hand, and a cup in the other. The bruises and cuts on his face were nearly gone, the scrape on the bridge of his nose looking like it would scar. His eyes were softer now, not as much resentment burning her way, although she wouldn’t exactly say he was happy to see her either.

He sighed, the sound making her heart flip, to hear another voice in the maddening silence of all these hours and days that had passed and he had said _nothing_. He put his hands together, the rosary necklace still laced in layers around his left hand, and closed his eyes.

“Oh, Gracious God, we have sinned, and we may be unworthy, but you pardon us, show us mercy, and You grace us with sustenance as we cleanse ourselves, so we may rejoice in Your Name, and do your bidding. Amen.”

“Why give thanks to a God that ended the world?” she blurted, against her better judgement. She should’ve waited until after she was fed to ask that. Whoops.

He glared at her. “He cleansed the world. Burned it…purged it of sinners, of evil-doers, and shallowness. And like a phoenix from the ashes, the world will be born anew. The worthy ones will be saved. And with this new genesis, there will be no more hate, no more bloodshed, or greed. There will be no more corrupt politicians driven by power or fortune, and no more oppressors feeding off the weak. It’s not pretty or nice. But God’s justice was served, and rightly deserved.”

She didn’t say anymore. He picked up a spoonful of whatever was on the plate, holding it out to her mouth. The Junior Deputy eyed it warily, despite the hunger that crippled her stomach.

Joseph sighed again. “It isn’t what you think it is.”

She scowled. “What…What did you do with him?”

“Cremated him. Now eat.”

He fed her the plate and then let her drink all of the water in the cup. Her hunger was barely satiated, and her thirst even less so, but she didn’t ask for anymore. Joseph sat the plate and cup to the side and stared at her, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, lacing his fingers. His blue eyes entrapped her like a spell, chilled her. They lingered over her slim body, tracing the edges of her muscles and curves, and then he blinked and looked to the room’s exit.

“How long am I going to be locked up like this?” she asked.

“Until I feel that I can trust you.”

“How…How long are we going to stay in this bunker?”

She braced for the answer, fearing it.

“Seven years.”

He said it so nonchalantly, like it was just a week’s vacation and then everything would be back to normal. She choked on her air, rattling the cuffs against the bed frame as she panicked. Seven years?! She would go insane before then. They both would. They would definitely kill each other before then. Years from now their corpses would be found and if any of her friends were still alive, she could picture them shaking their heads and saying, “Poor Dep, survived the Collapse, only for her and the Father to kill each other because they had to share the same bathroom.” Sharky and Hurk would laugh.

“Wh-What?!”

“Seven years,” he repeated, his blue eyes hardening. “Seven angels, seven trumpets, seven seals opened…seven years to cleanse the earth and birth it anew.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?! Seven years?!” she hissed. “Please kill me.”

“You think you want to die _now_?” he rasped, bitterness lacing his tone, the slightest upcurve in his lips. “Just wait until all of your demons are haunting you every _moment_ of every _day_ for what you _did_.”

She couldn’t keep his intense gaze, and lowered her eyes to the floor. She felt him get up from the chair and crouch before her. He grabbed her face in his hands, making her look at him. She expected that fiery resentment, but there was tenderness instead, and he softly smiled.

“And whenever you’re ready to acknowledge your sins, to atone, I will be here to help you with absolution in the name of the Lord. Then we can start the next stage in God’s plan for us.”

Joseph rose to his feet, towering over her. He gathered the dishes and walked quietly to the doorway. His form paused in the threshold, and he looked over his shoulder at her.

“When you feel you are at your breaking point, when you have cried yourself to exhaustion and your throat has bled from your tormented cries, when you wish for death to take you and give you sweet release, you won’t even be _close_ to the pain and anguish you gave _me_.”

He left the room. And the silence that followed…It was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for this :P Been wanting to write this for awhile, even though there are a ton of these fics. >.> Enjoy please! And if you like John/FemDep, please consider checking out my multi-chapter story Reap What You Sow as well! Thank you! ;D
> 
> The name/past of the Female Junior Deputy in this story will be revealed as the story progresses btw... :3


	2. Was It Worth It?

### Chapter 2: Was It Worth It?

_Every slight…_

_Every injustice…_

Rook faded in and out of consciousness. Delirium strangled her while she was awake, nightmares plagued her while she blacked out. Hope that this was all a horrible dream died within her and dread set in like decay of what her reality was now.

The world was gone. Her family and friends were dead. She was alone in this dreary bunker. She was at the mercy of Joseph Seed. And his mercy…was lacking. He mostly left her to suffer, barely feeding or watering her or giving her opportunity to relieve herself. The silent treatment was a punishment in itself. Every moment of every hour, the same faint ticking of a clock, the same dead air, the same maddening _nothing_. The world was dead above. This was hell beneath its scorched soil.

And the Father was right. Again. She cried herself to exhaustion countless hours. Her fingers bled from prying at the cuffs. Her face was bruised from beating her head against the metal bedframe. Dutch, why the fuck did you bolt this bed to the floor?! Her throat had torn from her anguished cries, and so only croaky whimpers remained.

She was plagued by every demon of her past. Every wrong decision, every bad action, every sin. Where had things gone wrong? What could she have done to change it? She was just trying to help the people of Hope County. She had good intentions.

Rook learned from a young age that in order to defeat injustice you had to fight it with all your might. It all started with Sarah. The first injustice. The first victim that taught her this world was unfair. That it was cruel and corrupted.

How long ago was that? Fifteen? Sixteen years ago? Had her sister been dead that long? Seemed like a lifetime ago now. But maybe that’s where her Wrath originated from. Her inner resentment to the strong preying on the weak, the corrupted taking advantage of the honest, the evil destroying the good. But she now knew that not everything was so black and white.

Rook spent her teen years in and out of juvie, in and out of “emotional therapy”. And once an adult she went straight into school and law enforcement so she could put her drive for justice to good use. She was always a scrapper, always ready to cause strife for those who cast the first stone on those who couldn’t defend themselves. But that changed sometime in the last couple of months when she showed up in Hope County as a freshly hired Junior Deputy.

_Every choice reveals our sin…_

Somewhere along the way, she became the injustice.

She killed so many people. It was a war. She was protecting herself, saving innocent bystanders, helping the Resistance. But those cultists were still people, were someone’s family, just as Sarah had been hers. The terror of that realization made her choke.

_“I told you we were living in a world on the brink,”_ Joseph’s words echoed in her feverish mind. _“Where every slight…every injustice…where every choice reveals our sins. And where have those sins led us? Where have those sins led YOU? Your friends have been taken and tortured, and it’s your fault. Countless people have been killed, and it is your fault. The world is on fire and it is YOUR fault. Was it worth it? Was it? When are you gonna realize that every problem cannot be solved with a bullet?”_

She did try. But neither side would listen and situational hazards made her have to choose survival over peace treaties or compromises.

Was that her excuse? It didn’t change the fact that she had done so much wrong trying to do right. These thoughts swirled around and around in her head for what seemed like ages. She picked every action she had done apart, doubting and hating herself. Over and over again, and it drove her insane.

It haunted her every waking moment. Tortured her in any sleep she managed to get. She wanted to die. She didn’t even know how much time had passed since the bombs dropped. Her meltdowns, her ignored pleas, she couldn’t piece it together. But she felt it would last eternity. Because this was _hell_. This was her personal, well-deserved, unending hell.

Half-conscious, weakly banging her head against the metal bedframe, Rook cried, shook. She heard voices in her head. But she couldn’t make sense of them, garbled and faint in a guilt-webbed mind. Her body screamed in pain, the only link to her reality as her mind ebbed away.

The familiar pinch of the locked handcuffs loosened while a muffled voice resonated around her. She saw her body sliding away from the bed, and for a faint moment she thought she was dying and her soul was retreating into the cracks of a cement cave. Her eyesight faded in and out of soft blackness and her raw throat mewled some kind of sound. She couldn’t even recognize her own voice.

Her legs dragged along the ground before her as some kind of force pulled her backwards. She recognized the doorways and rooms that passed by in her blurry vision. Yes, she was sure of it now. She was dying. The distant voice speaking to her was an angel. She had done her eternity in hell and she would soon get sweet release.

For a fleeting moment, she thought of Joseph. Was he still here? Would he be left alone? She thought it was cruel irony that in her final moments, she had the stupidity to worry about him.

She felt her back slide up against a cold wall. Her in and out of consciousness provided only hazy surroundings, but she wished death would hurry up. Long legs crossed her vision, a familiar dark string dangled within an inch of her nose and she felt a hand on her head.

The voice…what was it saying?

Icy cold sluiced over her, jolting her brain and soaking her body. The rushing water cascaded over her like a freezing cleansing ceremony, putting her body into shock. She gasped, her delirium flushing away, her body awakening and then the pain returned. She cried out, looking around. She was in the shower room of the bunker. The water gushed a constant stream, the pressure strong, the coldness biting into her.

She thought she would drown, unable to get a proper breath with so much water spilling over her. The current suddenly ceased, the faint squeak of turning knobs sounding above her as the shower was reduced to big droplets down her back.

She shivered, remaining in place, her muscles seizing up, her mind reeling. Her eyes finally focused when the familiar legs and dangling necklace came into her field of vision once more. Joseph Seed squatted before her, his hands clasping. He looked her in the eyes, searching for something as her teeth clattered.

She no longer saw any wounds or bruises on his face or body from their fight, and a fresh scar adorned the bridge of his nose. How much time had passed since they got down here?

“Still with me, my child?”

His voice was soft and gentle, but there was a faint gleam to his blue eyes that reminded her of the smug gratification he had when they first arrived in the bunker. He must’ve been enjoying the torment she was going through.

Normally, a sarcastic reply would have found its way out of her mouth, but Rook was too broken at this point. Nothing mattered. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t getting her release. She was still stuck down here. With him. Still wallowing in her guilt and sorrow. Still trapped under Joseph’s reign of “mercy”.

“Please,” she rasped. “Please kill me.”

She reached forward with strength she didn’t know she still had and grabbed his hands. She pulled them to her throat, wrapped them there and glared at him.

“Do it. I know you want to. Please!”

Joseph’s eyes darkened, falling to her throat and she felt his fingers constrict into her skin. His jaw ticked, teeth grinding as his inner darkness battled for control. Yes, he wanted to do it. Badly.

The squeeze of his long fingers hindered any air from reaching her lungs and she let her arms fall to her sides. But the Father’s infamous patience won out, and he released her airway, fingers grazing along her throat in a caress as he pulled his hands away.

She gawked at him. What was holding this man together? His goddamn faith? His violent compassion? His satisfaction that he was right? No, it would be too easy to kill her. He wanted her to suffer. He called it mercy, but it was fucking revenge hidden behind his delusions.

“What we _want_ and what we _need_ don’t run hand in hand,” he growled and rose to his full height.

It hurt to look up at him, and so focused on the dark jeans he wore, the belt that sported the familiar Eden’s Gate symbol, his long, strong legs. The rosary necklace dangled inches from her face, swaying back and forth like a hypnotic pendulum.

“It’s excruciating…isn’t it? Drowning in your despair…as your demons consume you, your sins inhibiting your soul like weeds and all you can do is think how you will never see any of your loved ones _ever_ again. And there is no one left to blame but yourself…”

She hated condescending Joseph Seed. She should’ve listened to his warped yet empathetic side when she had the chance. Now he sat on a high horse in the aftermath of his prophecies and warnings.

That high horse was white and its rider wore a crown and his purpose was to conquer. Just as he had conquered Hope County before hellfire rained down from the sky, he would conquer beneath its ashes.

Rook hadn’t been religious in years, but she remembered much of the scriptures.

“No…it wasn’t,” she whispered, and her eyes finally rose to his towering form. The cold shower had soaked into her clothes and skin, numbing her.

His brows creased. “Hmm?”

“You asked me just before it all ended…was it worth it. It wasn’t. I wish I had walked away…took a sick day…I wish I could’ve done things differently. I was just…trying to do the right thing.”

She felt an overload of emotion rush over her, bursting deep from within her damaged soul, and she put her hands to her face, crying. “Ugh I want to die! I can’t…I can’t do this!”

She swatted her hand against the shower wall, rising with balling fists, the anguish and anger taking over, tears spilling down her face. A boot connected with her shoulder, slamming her into the wall, pushing her back onto the ground, and preventing her from moving. She cried out, looking up at the Father.

“You have judged,” Joseph muttered, his tone like venom. “…And so, you are now judged. You have condemned, and now you are condemned. You haven’t forgiven…and you have not received forgiveness.”

She grabbed his leg, hissing, as he ground his boot painfully into her. He retracted it soon after and Rook trembled, catching her breath. She felt so weak. How long had she gone with so little food and water? She stared at Joseph, his features softening as he took a step back.

“There is absolution, my child. You must renounce your sins…and admit your transgressions. It’s the only way to gain the peace you desire. It’s the only way to receive God’s blessing, His forgiveness, just as it’s the only way to receive _mine_.”

She remained silent, staring up at him, taking in his words.

Joseph held out his hand towards her, smiling softly, his well-known placidity winning out over his inner darkness. “This can be our hell…or this can be our haven. What you make of it is entirely up to you…Mary.”

The name stirred something within her. It felt like ages since she heard someone call her by her real name. It hurt and comforted her at the same time. It wasn’t just Rook down here, the Junior Deputy that had blazed a trail of destruction within Hope County trying to stop a doomsday cult. The real her was still alive, buried deep, deep inside. And the Father had grabbed hold of her somehow.

She stared at his offered hand. She swallowed, and with a shaky hand she slowly reached out to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry that it's so short. Next chapter will be longer, I promise! I plan on taking this story into the New Dawn plot, but we'll see how it goes ^^' Thank you to those who have kudos/followed/commented on this story so far. Til next time! <3


	3. Emmy

### Chapter 3: Emmy 

The glowing blue of the fish tank splayed rippling shadows across the den as the filter bubbled away. The fish, various species and colors, swam along their invisible cage, oblivious to all that was around them. Oblivious to the plight of their new caretakers. Oblivious to the burning topside as the land and souls were cleansed.

Joseph Seed stared at their idle swimming, so soothing, so pointless…so infuriating. He slowly blinked, body slouched, elbows on his thighs, fingers rubbing together, the rosary swinging between his legs.

He hardly slept. He took comfort in hearing the world burn above him. A heavy weight had lifted from his shoulders and all he could do was smile. Rejoice. He was right. In the end… _he was right_. All the nay-sayers, all the non-believers…they _burned_ like they deserved. But soon the burning and destruction that lullabied him to sleep and gave him comfort eventually ceased. And a maddening silence took over.

Silence made him think. Silence made him remember.

He missed his brothers…his sister. He missed his flock. If only they’d been able to see what he had dreamt of for so long. What they had spent so many years of their lives building for.

And once again, he lost his family.

_The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh…_

His outer wounds had healed, but the anguish still simmered beneath his pride deep within, fueling a hatred that clawed in his bones.

Joseph’s fingers twitched, eyes unblinking, the fish aimlessly swimming across from him. How many times had he imagined his hands around her throat and watching as she slowly wasted away? He recalled how many times he awoke screaming, crying for his family. Martyrs, all of them. So, he had thought of it plenty.

But he and the Deputy were no longer enemies. And Joseph’s patience…his faith in God and what He wanted of them was what kept him from giving her the death she begged for. He didn’t admit that killing her, despite the satisfaction and pleasure he would get out of it, would leave him all alone. And that terrified him.

When he pulled her from the wreckage, he saw it. A hazy glimpse beyond their hibernation from the cleansing. A strange, reborn land. And he had new followers, a new family. Small, but growing. And the Deputy was there. Completely and wholly loyal _to_ _him_. And him alone. God’s first sign that she still had a purpose.

He didn’t think about it much back then while it was fresh. Didn’t think about it much when he shot Dutch dead and left the others to burn outside. Hadn’t one of them clawed at the closed bunker doors for a while? He couldn’t recall clearly. He had been drunk on half-crazed deliverance and realization he was right.

A sobbing wail echoed through the cement hallways of the bunker. Joseph gritted his jaw, flexing his hand hard enough the rosary constricted into his skin with a bite. The cries could go on for hours. But he let the Deputy suffer. Punishment. Nothing close to what she had dealt him. She was reaping what she had sowed.

The Deputy was locked in the same spot, and her weeping and cursing split through the bunker as she rattled her cuffs and banged her head, desperate and delusional. She would curse and threaten him one moment, and another beg him to come to her. She pleaded for death a lot. Joseph gave her bare minimum of water and food and so little of his attention. She needed time. Needed to see the error of her ways. Realize her sins and the damage she had done.

At this point, Joseph wondered if the Deputy missed being stuck in one of Jacob’s cages.

If only she knew what she would eventually become.

The cult leader may have had the freedom to move around unlike his reluctant housemate, but he hardly moved. He retreated deep within himself, staring at the walls for hours, lost in thought or rambling to himself. He whispered scriptures or hymns. He only ate when the ache was too much. When he did move, he paced a lot.

As the days passed, he started hearing voices again. Figures crossed his peripheral vision that were not the Deputy. He awoke after days of no sleep to Faith singing, to John calling his name, but as he panted, listening for their voices, all he could hear was the Deputy sobbing or whispering to herself.

Something was going to have to give.

It was after two in the morning, according to the digital clock in the den that told the time and date, enabling him to keep track of the days.

 _Day 21_ …

He wondered if the stars had returned yet and if the moon was still so full of blood. Gone were the days he would watch them for hours, enjoying their tranquility.

Joseph made his way into the Deputy’s room. He watched her from the doorway. She was in and out of consciousness, mumbling incomprehensible words. The room reeked of her filth, and the despair curled out of her broken shell of a body like a foul smoke.

Joseph rubbed his jawline, swallowing his inner wrath and stepped forward. He could only hold back a sneer. To see the wrathful Lamb broken down into such a wretched creature. And yet, she would never know the level of agonizing sorrow she had cast upon him.

He approached her, took in her appearance. Her sandy brown hair matted and tousled around pale, sweaty skin. Green eyes dull and unseeing. She looked a bit thinner since they had arrived here, her same clothes grimy and worn. She was a short woman, athletic and fit. If he recalled correctly, she was in her late twenties.

He remembered the profile that John handed over to him that contained the Deputy’s information. Name, background, family members, where she was born and raised. A troubled past that gave way to a career in law enforcement. John could always dig up the darkest secrets of anyone that he set his sights on. He was also exceptional at making people confess to them too.

The Father had known her as soon as she entered his church that fateful night. He didn’t need a name or a record. She was his sign from God that the Collapse was near. That the time they had prepared for was upon them. But then she had dismantled everything with her Resistance through her false “righteousness”. It was only later, after his brothers and sister were dead, and he despaired over them, that the Voice spoke to him again.

_“Make martyrs of those who made martyrs of mine. And if the wicked resists, you must take them underneath my wrath as it scorches the land.”_

And here they were.

Joseph approached the slumped Deputy, reaching into his pocket for the key to the handcuffs. He glared down at her, although she didn’t take notice of his arrival. She wasn’t really aware of anything at the moment.

He sighed. “Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent.”

He unlocked her handcuffs and pulled the Deputy away from the bed frame. She didn’t fight. He grabbed her by the back of the shirt and started dragging her towards the showers. A few inaudible grunts and pleas escaped her lips as he hauled her through the bunker, but she was too weak to fight.

He slid her back up against the wall of the shower. Her head bobbled as she tried to focus. Joseph slightly shook his head, stepping around her to the shower valves.

He placed a hand on her head. “Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds _mercy_.”

The Father turned the valve and water burst from the spout, pouring over the Deputy and waking her up. He let her writhe and scream, the jet of water soaking her in seconds. Her eyes came back to life, wild and wide and she flailed her limbs along the tiled floor.

He hesitated longer than he should have when she started coughing, but finally turned the dials to OFF. As the Deputy shivered in place, in shock, he crouched in front of her, looking into her sad, wild eyes.

“Still with me, my child?” he asked. He admitted that her suffering gave him some kind of restitution.

A gleam sparked in her eyes, a little fight returning as she weakly glared at him, but no taunt came from her rattling teeth, water droplets sliding down her face and dripping from soaked clothes.

Finally, she uttered, “Please…Please kill me.”

Her hands reached out, taking his, wetting them as she squeezed. She had such soft hands for someone who had destroyed so much. She yanked them back, pulling them to her throat and wrapped them there, her eyes never leaving his.

“Do it!” she demanded. “I know you want to. Please!”

Joseph lowered his eyes, his hands clasped around a slim, delicate throat. Anger, resentment, his desire for justice boiled within him, and his fingers clamped shut hard there, cutting off her airway. All he could think about was his family, his flock, all that he had worked for in so many years of his life…taken from him. All because of her.

But then he saw it. A flash in his head, a vague picture that was gone in seconds. The Deputy and him, their foreheads together, praying in this bleak, dusty dungeon. More of God’s signs…

He released her neck, allowing her to breathe just as she started turning blue. His fingers caressed her there as he pulled them away, bruises already starting to surface. The Deputy stared at him after recovering her air, stunned.

Joseph gave a half-hidden bitter smile and stood. “What we _want_ and what we _need_ don’t run hand in hand.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard, the back of her head connecting with the shower wall and a weak groan passed through clenched teeth. She was upset. He wouldn’t give her what she wanted. What she needed was entirely up to God and Joseph was in charge of dishing it out.

“It’s excruciating…isn’t it?” The Father jeered. “Drowning in your despair…as your demons consume you, your sins inhibiting your soul like weeds and all you can do is think how you will never see any of your loved ones _ever_ again. And there is no one left to blame but yourself…”

She thinks this is _despair_? This is _agony_? She. Had. No. Idea.

A long moment of tense silence passed, the Deputy shivering and drenched. A few tears blinked from her eyes and mixed with dews upon her face. She finally spoke.

“No…it wasn’t.” Her eyes had finally rose to meet his.

He contemplated what she could possibly mean. “Hmm?”

“You asked me just before it all ended…was it worth it. It wasn’t. I wish I had walked away…took a sick day…I wish I could’ve done things differently. I was just…trying to do the right thing.”

_The right thing?!_

His hand clasped around the rosary, barring him from returning his fingers to finish what he desired deep within his heart.

She cracked under the pressure, a sob breaking from her throat. “Ugh I want to die! I can’t…I can’t do this!”

She punched the shower wall, boots slipping on wet tile as she rose with angry cries. Joseph bared his teeth, lifting one long leg and slamming it into her shoulder. He kicked her into the wall, pushing her back onto the ground and kept her there. She yelped in surprise, eyes going to him.

“You have judged,” Joseph growled, wrath sparking within his nerves and he nearly lost control. “And so, you are now judged. You have condemned, and now you are condemned. You haven’t forgiven…and you have not received forgiveness.”

He ground his boot harder into her shoulder, wounding her further. She grabbed his leg, moaning, too weak to fight him. Joseph finally found his control and grounded himself. He withdrew his leg and she struggled to recover. She didn’t realize how weak she had become with so little food, water, or care.

Joseph took a deep breath, stepping back, and became placid. He wasn’t like his brothers, he had to remind himself. Where John would’ve torn her to pieces and hung her on the walls, or Jacob would’ve destroyed and devoured her, he must do God’s bidding, and show her the light. Save her, so that they may heal together, and start the next step…their purpose.

“There is absolution, my child,” he said. “You must renounce your sins…and admit your transgressions. It’s the only way to gain the peace you desire. It’s the only way to receive God’s blessing, His forgiveness, just as it’s the only way to receive _mine_.”

He would have to dig in deep, hook her from the very depths of her bones and pull the broken pieces from her soul. The only way to do that, was to awaken who she really was.

He held out his hand to her, smiling gently, swallowing his resentment to do what God required of him. “This can be our hell…or this can be our haven. What you make of it is entirely up to you…Mary.”

Her name spoken out loud sparked something within her. Her eyes revived some light. Her beautiful face softened with surprise, the torment she held slackening just a little. She looked at his offered hand, taking it in and, after hesitating a few more moments, Mary reached out with her own trembling hand and took his.

 

* * *

 

“Emmy! Come here, look at this!”

Mary looked up from her comic book, her legs lightly swaying her back and forth on the swing. Her younger sister was over the hill by their favorite tree, a bright smile seen from a mile away as she pointed to something on the ground.

The thirteen-year-old sighed, getting up and placing her comic on the swing to head over to her sister. Sarah was always the curious, outgoing adventurer type. More so than even Mary, who spent more of her time roughing around with boys than she did playing with other girls.

Sarah was a tomboy too, but she also loved her girly dresses and fixing her hair. Her sister was younger than her by two years, and they had always been close. After all, they only had each other, as their mother was a worthless drunk and their father was dead.

The giant oak tree splayed out heavy branches thick with leaves and provided a good amount of shade. It sat on a hill overlooking an overgrown field and a view of their hometown. It was just up from their yard, a messy trash heap of a place with a rotting trailer.

“Look, look! It’s so cute!” Sarah exclaimed as her sister came over.

Mary looked to where her sister was pointing. A fledgling crow sat huddled near a knotted clump of roots. Its fluffy down feathers stuck up all over and its blue eyes beheld them with wonder, mouth slightly agape.

“Aww,” Mary said, smiling. “A baby crow.”

“Where’s his parents?”

Mary looked around them, but no adult crows were in sight. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re off looking for food for him?”

“Shouldn’t he be in his nest?” Sarah reached down and petted the crow on the head. “It’s okay little fella, we aren’t gonna hurt you.”

“I think he’s learning to fly,” Mary said with a small smile. “We better leave him alone.”

“But what if he gets hurt or eaten?”

Mary always admired her sister’s big heart. Even after all the shit they had to go through every day, she still retained her positivity, her good heart, her innocence. Mary bent and picked up an adult crow feather buried beneath some blades of grass. She stuck it behind Sarah’s ear with a big grin.

“We’ll keep watch from afar, okay?”

Sarah was thrilled about that. So, they went back down near the wobbly swing set and sat on a half-rotten log in the dirt covered yard to watch. And sure enough, eventually the parents returned. The adult crows flew around, cawing, landing on lower branches. The baby hopped and fluttered over to them to be fed.

“His mommy and daddy came back for him! He should be safe now,” Sarah said.

“Indeed,” Mary laughed.

“I wish daddy would come back for us.”

Mary frowned, looking down at Sarah as they sat side by side. She reached around and grabbed her sister, pulling her into a strong hug. She softly rocked her. Sarah was always a silent crier.

“Me too.”

“You think he is in Heaven? Does it exist?”

Mary swallowed. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. They grew up in a religious family. Their father was such a positive influence on them, teaching them to be strong, to be kind, to always do the right thing. But after he passed away three years ago, their lives were shattered. Their mother became a drug addict and alcoholic, partying and bedding with strangers every weekend. They lost their nice home, their car, and became just another poverty-stricken family on the outskirts.

It was hard to believe in anything when God hadn’t been so good to them.

But Mary had to be positive, be strong for her sister. And so, she smiled down at her with a nod. “Of course he’s in Heaven, silly. He’s watching over us right now. We just can’t see him.”

Their mother couldn’t care less about them anymore, and so it was up to Mary to watch over Sarah.

“Thanks, Emmy.”

A loud, rumbling engine caught their attention. A beat-up red pickup truck pulled into the driveway with blaring music. Mary clenched her jaw as she looked over her shoulder, quickly thinking of something.

Mary rubbed Sarah’s shoulders. “Hey, I know! I got a few dollars leftover. Let’s go get some ice cream. The truck should be stopping by the corner store soon!”

Sarah’s eyes lingered on the red truck and the man that stepped out of it, quickly nodding. “Okay, sure!”

 

* * *

 

“I extend a passage of trust to you so you may have more freedom. Do not break it.”

Mary’s eyes went from her cuffed hands on the table to the cult leader sitting opposite of her. The room was dimly lit with a red light, casting blood-colored shadows across Joseph’s half-naked form. This had once been Dutch’s “command center” where he had helped the Resistance all over Hope County with communications, intel, and anything else he could use to fight Eden’s Gate.

Most of the papers and files had been tossed about, looking as though a storm had blown through. The CB radio was smashed, the maps ripped away. Dutch’s video feeds of the surface were black and silent, and the pictures Dutch had of the Seed siblings sat on the table before Joseph, neatly placed side by side. He played with one corner of Jacob’s photo with a finger, but his eyes remained on her.

She dipped her head. “Okay.”

“You will remain cuffed until you are ready to confess and atone for what you have done,” Joseph said. “You will eat and drink whenever I allow it. The bunker is free for you to explore, but the weapons storage is to remain inaccessible to you. And don’t even try opening the entrance because only I have the key.”

“You…you aren’t going to make me atone?”

Joseph lightly snorted, his eyes falling to John’s picture on the table. “I’m not like my brother. It does no good to force atonement on someone who is unwilling. Lying before God? It’s insolence to His forgiveness.”

_Do you even realize exactly how many people you and your brothers and Faith forced to go through hell?_

She didn’t speak her thoughts out loud. She looked down to her chest, the healed WRATH tattoo peeking through her V-neck shirt. She returned her gaze to the handsome cult leader.

“And what if I don’t ever confess or atone?”

He didn’t blink. That same cool mask concealing any emotions. “You will.”

Mary spit out a half-chuckle. “If you say so.”

And she saw it. The same proud leer he gave her when they first arrived as he leaned back in the chair to bask in the glory that he was right.

He barely nodded. “I do.”

Her stomach churned at his tone and she looked away. Better to not test the waters with how many more times Joseph Seed could be right. Her eyes fell on the blank surveillance camera feeds, wishing they would click on and show her what the world looked like right now.

She remembered Dutch telling her all about this bunker during some of the nights she stayed with him throughout the months she endured fighting the Seeds and the Project. The bunker was completely self-sufficient. It got water and electricity through Silver Lake and Henbane River, powering the bunker for years as well as providing water through a filtering system. It was nice to know they wouldn’t have to worry about losing power or dying of thirst so long as the lake and river didn’t dry up. But even then, she saw the several hundred tons of water in storage for backup.

“You aren’t the only one being punished.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, his face half in shadow, his hard abs and muscular arms basking in the eerie blood red light, reminding her more of a devil than of a saint.

“Blessed is the one whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. I take my punishment with dignity, and that punishment is to keep you. For I must love you and nurture you. Be the physical hand of God’s grace.”

He said that…until they killed each other halfway through their sentence in this hellhole.

But maybe he was right about this. The guilt still ate at her, consumed her. She felt more like killing herself than she did killing the Father. Mary’s thoughts filtered through, thinking of Sarah, of John, Jacob, and Faith, of all her friends in the Resistance. All of them gone for good, without a second chance at making things right.

They were both in an unmarked grave in the middle of apocalyptic Montana, being punished for what they had done to each other and those they thought deserved no better - and yet somehow both lucky (or unlucky) enough to be spared burning to death. Mary looked Joseph over. His sad, tired eyes and his scarred, tattooed body. They had taken everything from one another. But now...now they were all that was left, for good and for bad.

If there was a God out there, she sure could applaud his wicked sense of irony. Or was it karma?

Mary awkwardly slid out of her chair and rose, unsure what else to exchange with her “keeper”. She felt Joseph’s eyes on her back as she went to leave the room, remembering the days she and Dutch discussed tactics and making radio calls to Eli, Whitehorse or Jerome.

“Why did your friends call you Emmy?”

She froze, hands bound in front of her. The name seized in her heart, and she turned around quicker than intended, showing it had affected her. Joseph didn’t move, still leaned back in his chair, long legs out from the table.

“If they weren’t calling you Deputy or Rook, they were calling you Emmy instead of Mary.”

She thinned her lips. “Mary Evelyn Samson…Evelyn is my middle name…M-E. It’s been my nickname since I was a kid.”

Sarah had been the first to come up with it. She was always clever like that.

There was a flash in his eyes as something registered, but other than that, Joseph didn’t respond much. He lazily rubbed at his beard, lowering his eyes to the pictures of his siblings, but she saw his eyes slowly scan over the tattoo of his wife.

Joseph said nothing more, and in her uncomfortable silence, Mary slipped out of the room to explore Dutch’s bunker, eager to look at something other than that goddamn bedframe or Joseph’s face.

 

* * *

 

Joseph didn’t even notice the Deputy leave, too lost in his own thoughts. She was reluctant still, even after her near psychotic break. But she had yet to even scratch the surface of what she would feel when it finally all came out. Joseph would wait, his seemingly never-ending patience fueled by God. If he had to tie her up for another month, so be it. He had worked with psychiatric patients for years, dealt with people in a much more demanding way than what she could yield, even with her stubborn, impulsive nature.

But her name…roused something within him. He wasn’t sure what it was. His head had begun to hurt. The headaches were always a sign the Voice would come. And some visions were definitely more painful than others.

When he first read her profile, he took in her first name without much thought…until now. But her last name had stuck with him. _Samson._ All he could think about was the last Judge in the Book of Judges whom had slain a thousand men with a donkey jaw and killed a lion with his bare hands. And like a similar force to be reckoned with, she had slain his followers and torn his Project apart at its seams.

But Mary didn’t succeed in killing her lion. Instead, he now joined her in purgatory. And they had to nourish and accept each other.

“Out of the eater came something to eat.”

Her middle name…a diminutive form of Eve. As his head pounded, he was unaware of the ironic smile he quirked as he stared at the far wall.

He was beginning to slowly piece together a bigger picture, so much grander than he could ever have imagined.

“Out of the strong came something sweet,” he murmured as the pounding in his head became heavier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter, but at least it's a little longer than the first two! :D We got a tiny peek into Mary's past, and we got a couple of sections in Joseph's POV (which I always love to write). Besides the obvious of what I'm going for with this story *mischievous chuckles* *horrible attempt at wiggling eyebrows* This story will also show how the Deputy became the Judge in New Dawn (with a bit more character/emotional depth of course). If people like the story enough I might even continue it into the events of ND, we will see. ;)
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos/hits/comments! I appreciate all of you!


	4. Battle of Wills

### Chapter 4: Battle of Wills

Joseph flinched, shielding the crying child behind him as the fight broke out in the living room. His mother was passed out on the couch, the cursing and the yells and the slamming of fists and breaking furniture falling on boozed ears. The thin, young teenager shouted at the two taller figures to stop, but even his cries were drowned out by such violent tempers.

Old Man Seed cracked Jacob across the face with a fist, and blood splattered across the wall, across a crooked family picture from a few years before.

“You need to learn some goddamn respect, boy!” Their father bellowed, his voice always so loud and enraged when he was drunk, which was most of the time.

“Fuck you, old man! One day I’m gonna kill you!”

Jacob swung a fist. He was nearly as tall as their father now, and more muscle than beer belly which their father sported. His fist caught Old Man Seed in the eye, and the older man tumbled backwards, falling over a ratty recliner and crashing onto the floor. But the drink that buzzed his motor skills and mouth didn’t allow him to get back up, and he laid there with a groan.

Jacob nearly stepped over there to kick their father while he was down, but Joseph pleaded with his fuming brother.

“Please, brother. Stop. It’s over.”

Jacob tensed, bristling with anger, those steel blue eyes seething at the mumbling drunkard as he tried to get up, spitting half-threats about whipping the boys until they couldn’t sit anymore. John’s cries were the loudest, booming over their father’s cursing and the creaking of a ceiling fan.

It’s what finally broke Jacob’s rage, and he turned to Joseph and John, blood pouring down his nose, scrapes and cuts on his face and arms, and a large bruise forming on his cheekbone.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” he said.

Joseph didn’t say anything, his eyes falling over their wretched father as he finally passed out from the drink. Jacob scooped up the bawling John with soothing coos, and kicked the screen door open to the backyard.

“It’s alright, bud, I gotcha. Big brother Jake showed him who’s boss!”

Joseph followed his older brother out. It never got easier, feeling the tension twist within him, feeling his nerves burn and nausea cripple his belly. Now that the adrenaline waned off as they headed for the creek through the woods, he could feel the whelps and bruises forming along his back and the pounding in his head made it hard to focus for a minute. A sharp ringing ran through his eardrums before it went away, and he realized Jacob was talking to him.

“You okay, Joe?”

“Yeah, are you?”

Jacob spat blood from his lip, rubbing John’s back as he carried him down the forest trail. “Me? Always. What the hell did I miss back there?”

“The usual,” Joseph replied, kicking at a rock. “Pa came home drunk. Ma didn’t change John and so Pa took it out on him. I was in my room studying. I should’ve been watching him. I-I stepped in to stop Pa and he started on me. Banged my head into a window sill pretty hard, so I sat there seeing double for awhile until you showed up.”

Jacob grimaced, and Joseph noticed that John had fallen asleep over Jacob’s shoulders. A large bruise started forming on their youngest brother’s cheek, swelling under drying tears.

“One day, I’ll kill him.”

Joseph shook his head. “That won’t fix anything, Jake. I’m sure there’s another way.”

The creek was full and flowed steadily through a shaded canopy of oaks and pines. There was a bare area along the bank where the boys frequented. This was their favorite spot after all. Their respite from their own home.

Jacob woke John and sat him down. The boy rubbed his eyes and followed right behind Jacob as the older brother pulled some cattails away from the bank. Joseph took a moment to breathe, allowing the surrounding nature and tranquility heal him.

He watched Jacob sit down against their chosen shade tree just up from the water. He wiped the blood from his face and grinned down at John as he played with him with gentleness he only saved for them. Jacob looked so much like their father, large, rugged and red-haired. The neighbors often called Old Man Seed an eccentric, religious Irish drunk. Joseph and John took more of their looks from their mother, darker hair, but still got their father’s eyes.

Joseph joined them under the tree, picking at the grass as the sound of the creek and singing birds soothed him. The smell of pine, fresh water, and wet soil around them was something he would never forget.

John was all smiles and giggles now, the torment he felt at the house already forgotten. The swelling on his cheek didn’t seem to bother him, and he walked along the dirt picking up pebbles.

“You know a little over a year from now I’ll be eighteen,” Jacob said, side-glancing at Joseph. “Pa will kick me outta the house, if we haven’t killed each other first. But I can’t…I won’t leave you guys. I’ll find a way to take you two with me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.”

It sounded great. But they both knew the world didn’t quite work that way. Joseph studied Jacob as he stared into the water, determination in his eyes, the bruise on his cheekbone spreading towards his eye.

Something smooth and cool touched Joseph’s hand, and he looked down, saw a much smaller hand in his with a river pebble. John smiled at him, tears gone and bright-eyed. Joseph returned the innocent smile and touched his forehead to John’s.

“Thanks, little brother. A fantastic gift.”

“Joe-Joe, we fish?”

Joseph softly laughed. “Jake’s the better fisherman. Ask him.”

“He’s so damn smart,” Jacob said, standing and ruffling John’s hair. “This little guy’s goin’ places, aren’tcha, bud?”

“Jake, we fish?”

“Fuck ya, we gonna fish.”

“Don’t teach him such language,” Joseph groaned, getting up and dusting himself off.

John ran towards the shore with an excited cry, short legs stumbling on the give in the sand. “Fuck ya!”

Joseph glared at Jacob. The oldest Seed brother just chuckled, rubbing a palm through messy ginger hair. “Whoops.”

Joseph dug for their old fishing rods they kept hidden down here. It was the only way to keep them safe from their parents selling them off. Jacob had made John a makeshift rod out of a sapling and their little brother was eager to fish in between them at the edge of the creek.

As the evening grew later, frogs croaking, crickets chirping, the first fireflies lighting up within the trees, the brothers fished while joking and telling stories, confiding in each other over fears and dreams like they often did so. Little did they know, it would be the last time they would fish here, for their father would be arrested the next day, and the boys would be pulled from the home.

Jacob looked over at Joseph, smiling despite the bruising on his face and the dry blood that crusted his nose.

“I mean it, Joe…I’ll protect you and John no matter what…even if it kills me. We’ll get outta this. I promise. I love you, brother.”

“I love you too, Jake.”

And then Jacob was shot. Right in front of him. Striking him through the chest with a sickening crunch. Joseph dropped his pole, but then realized he was no longer at the creek, no longer fishing. Jacob had aged so suddenly, and blood oozed down his arms and face and chest as he gasped for breath, leaning against a jagged boulder.

Voices splintered through his head, inflicting pain and terrible heartache. He heard voices of strangers crying, the howling of wolves, the damned song from Jacob’s music box reverberating around him like a speaker played it from within thick masses of trees.

And Jacob’s voice, the same strong, composed cadence that he grew up with, echoed all around him.

_“You think I give a shit if I die? That’s my purpose. I give my life for Joseph’s…and I do it gladly. I understand my role. I am his sacrifice. Simple as that.”_

And Joseph saw her. The Deputy between the trees, standing before Jacob as he spoke but Joseph couldn’t hear him. Jacob gestured for her to come closer, blood leaking from his lips as he smiled softly. Joseph stepped through the trees into the clearing, heart banging in his chest. His brother struggled with ragged breaths as he spoke to her, grabbing hold of her arms when she got within reach.

_“-but it only brought us closer to the edge. And this is where we are. Right here on schedule, just waiting for someone to push us…and oh boy, have you pushed us. You did everything he said you would do. And you didn’t even know it. You had no fucking clue.”_

“Jake, no!”

He hadn’t called Jacob that since they were kids but he cried it out, running for him as his brother slumped and took one last, painful breath. Joseph reached out to grab his brother, shake him awake, beg him to come back. He had been his rock for so long.

Joseph lurched up in bed, screaming, panting, covered in sweat. He swallowed air in big gulps, panicking, heart racing, head pounding. He moaned, grabbing his head, tears streaming down his face. He trembled and it took him a minute to remember where he was. The mild humming of generators, the metallic popping of pipes, the cold darkness all around him. He was in the bunker.

The Father slowly got out of bed. He couldn’t decide which hurt more, his heart or his head. Twitchy, restless, overly rattled, he decided to go to the den for some cold water.

He had taken one of the bunkbeds in the family room, although they were a bit small for him. He allowed the Deputy to have Dutch’s old room and bed for now. He slipped into the den, trying to push back the dread the nightmare caused him. Jacob did just as he said he would do when they were kids; protected him and John even if it killed him. And it did. Soon after, he lost John as well.

Joseph swallowed, trying not to think how John hit his breaking point after Jacob’s death, their final encounter before he trudged off to “end this” despite Joseph’s pleas and warnings to not let his sin devour him. Jacob was no longer there to help reign John in, and the mad dog was let loose.

Joseph froze as he stepped into the den. Mary laid on the couch, her features illuminated by a lit lamp on the end table just on the other side of the sofa. The room was silent save for her soft breaths and the bubbling of the fish tank. She looked like she had fallen asleep reading a book, cuffed hands barely holding the flimsy paperback across her flat stomach.

Something inside of him snapped. The wrath within him that he always kept so deeply buried, the same wrath Jacob used against their parents, the same wrath that John fed like a hungry wolf. It boiled to the surface as he saw her sleeping peacefully, the emotional trauma from the nightmare still fresh and channeling it. He glanced to his inner forearm where the sin was etched, and felt the cross from the rosary bite into his skin as he formed tight fists.

Joseph stalked over to her. His soul demanded justice for what she did. He ignored the sharp pain in his skull, ignored the Voice as it whispered to him. Joseph put his hands around her throat, seething to his very fingertips, feeling the blood pulsate in her carotid. All it would take was just one long, hard squeeze...and it would all be over. He had done it before. Mercy, if only his own brand of it. Clenching his jaw, he hesitated, out of his mind with pain and hatred. This wretched woman, this wrathful Lamb, had taken everything from him. It made no sense for God to allow him to keep her, for her to continue living when his family did not.

All the fuzzy visions he’d been having of her solely loyal to him, a protector of his flock, in some new world - it didn’t have to be. He could get so much more gratification right now squeezing the life out of her. Vengeance in the form of well-deserved justice.

She could never be a replacement family to the real one she took from him.

Just as Joseph started to tighten his grip, glaring into her slumbering, relaxed face, her brows suddenly creased, and she twitched and mewled.

“Sarah,” she mumbled. “Sarah...please! Come back to me!”

The Deputy was crying in her sleep now, pretty face contorted, limbs jerking as though she was trying to run somewhere. Tears slipped from her closed eyes and another awful plea broke out into the den.

Joseph froze, the bared snarl on his face sinking, the anger burning within him suddenly doused with pity. Once he swallowed his wrath, he came to his senses. If he killed her, the gratification would only be temporary. He would be all alone in this bunker, and that terrified him beyond anything else.

“Please,” she rasped again, barely audible to his ears.

Joseph pulled his hands away slowly, sighing. She was suffering just as much as he was. It wasn’t the first time he heard her wail and cry in her sleep, and it wasn’t the first time he heard Sarah’s name. But he had no idea who she was to Mary or what happened to her. He could only gather by the familiar mourning that she had been someone dear to her.

Joseph stepped away quietly, raising his hands in submission even though she had been oblivious to his prior intentions. His eyes went to the ceiling of the bunker, the last of his rage buried back where it belonged.

“Forgive me, Father.”

God had a plan for them, even if Joseph was still putting the pieces together. He almost went against the Lord’s will, in the heat of wanting to fulfill his own. Mary was his replacement family whether he wanted it or not, and he would have to accept it. He needed her as much as she needed him. And he did take an oath before God to take care of her, to lead them through the gates of Eden when the cleansing was over.

The Deputy becoming wholly loyal to him wouldn’t give him his family back, but it did fuel his inner pride, did give him some sort of pleasure that she would eventually join with him, and that’s all he had tried to get her to do while his brothers and sister were still alive if she wouldn’t go in peace.

In the end, he’d still win.

 

* * *

 

The next few days went by at a snail’s pace. Mary was stir-crazy within the first twenty-four hours that Joseph let her loose. The forced roommates only interacted when it was unavoidable, keeping to themselves or watching each other from afar.

Mary found a closet full of Jess’s clothes, and was so happy because the two of them were very similar in build. However, changing required asking her fellow trapped bunker mate for help, and she did not like that at all. Joseph unlocked one handcuff link to allow her to change, but he kept watch with a gun. She wondered if he would do the same when she required a shower again.

The whole ordeal was the most uncomfortable, stressful situation she ever had to deal with. And her natural reflex to handle it was to test Joseph’s patience. Because getting a reaction out of him, making something happen, was better than him remaining unaffected.

Then again, she had noticed him suffering from weird headaches the past few days. Her only indications were the set of his jaw, how he rubbed his eyes or temples or stared at the walls with a grimace. He sometimes whispered to himself. Maybe he was hearing voices, she didn’t know.

_Of all people in Hope County to be stuck with…it just had to be the crazy cult leader who listened to voices in his head…_

The headaches did make the Father a tad bit more reactive than when he wasn’t having them. His glares were more intense and frequent, but he never voiced any inner agitation, even as she did things to purposely goad him.

When she finally got hungry enough to ask him when she could eat, Joseph bribed her with food for them to sit down and talk. She SO wasn’t ready for that. Oh, no. She wasn’t falling for his tricks, his mind games. And like a melodramatic teenager she told him she would rather starve herself first and left.

And so, the next day, Mary kept herself busy looking through their supplies and read through Dutch’s chicken scratch he called notes for information on the bunker. There was a trunk sitting in the corner of the den, bolted up with a combination lock. She was able to break it through sheer luck. The safe in the communications room was next.

She found his diary buried within the container full of family heirlooms and memorabilia. It was a tattered, old journal with a eagle on the front cover.

_Who knew that old, paranoid bear kept such a thing?_

When she read through those pages, what she deciphered within his scattered notes broke her heart. She recalled Dutch’s story about his son and his family many a night she had stayed here with him. When Dutch had built this bunker for him and his wife and their children and grandchildren it had been fine. But after his wife passed away, Dutch’s son grew distant over his father’s growing paranoia and obsession about being ready for the end of the world. He took his wife and daughter and left Montana…leaving Dutch all alone.

_“Kids, man…kids’ll kill ya. First thing they’ll do is ruin your sleep for good. No matter how old they are, you’ll never sleep well again. Next, you do your best to prepare them for a cold, hard world…but then they’re the ones that end up breaking your heart.”_

Despite the fallout Dutch had with them, he had prepared this bunker to be able to house them all for at least eight to nine years. It pieced together the bunk beds and all of the men’s, women’s, and children’s clothing and supplies she had found stored within the cement walls. Looking at the number side of things, the fortune the old prepper had spent to keep his family safe was nothing short of remarkable and touching. Dutch clearly cared a lot, his gruff demeanor simply doing an excellent job at camouflaging his good heart.

Even given the estrangement with his loved ones, her old friend had been ready and willing to take them all in as the bombs were dropping right outside his door hatch. How ironic and infuriating how he ended up being killed in the one place he felt the safest. The one place he poured his heart and soul into so that he could protect his family. All taken away by the man in the next room.

Mary gritted her teeth, running her fingers over Dutch’s heartfelt entries. According to one of them, his birthday was coming up within the next two weeks. He wouldn’t get to celebrate it, and it looked as though he had spent quite a few of his last ones alone.

But he never gave up on his family, despite being kept at arm’s length by them.

_“I imagine the mainstream media would paint us as two sides of the same coin. But to me, it’s simple. I’m willing to sacrifice everything for my family, while Joseph Seed…wants to burn down the world for his.”_

His family had probably perished along with the rest of the world. Mary hoped that Dutch got some sort of heaven with them somewhere, somehow.

_I’m sorry, my friend…_

With a forlorn sigh, she clapped the diary shut and set it aside. If the bunker could self-sustain itself for a decade, and they had enough supplies for a family of six or seven people for approximately eight or nine years, she could feel better. But so much could go wrong in seven years. As her mentor and supervisor, Earl Whitehorse, used to say, _“Expect the unexpected!”_

The Deputy dug through the rest of Dutch’s chest, curious of anything else that could help her with her new living arrangements for the next seven years. As her cuffed hands shifted through old trinkets and trophies, they grabbed hold of a tall glass bottle. She moved more items aside, and saw that it was a full bottle of moonshine.

Her eyes lit up, and she almost pulled it out, until she saw something else just as sweet. She recognized the little yellow baggy from Sharky’s personal stash. Dutch must’ve bought some off the arsonist while they played cards one night. Mary pulled the bag of “oregano” out, grinning.

“Fuck yeah!”

 _Thank you, Dutch!_ _And thank you, Sharky!_

Mary knew the old man had a secret storage of alcohol, but Joseph wasn’t letting her anywhere near it. The weed was a surprise though. She unsealed the baggy as she rose to her feet, eager to get some sort of release from all the stress thrashing within her. She knew exactly where Dutch kept some lighters and paper.

She put the baggy to her nose and inhaled deeply. As the smell wafted over her, the baggy was plucked away. She reached for it like a baby for a bottle, trying to reclaim it, but a hollow smack of paper hit her forehead.

Did the fucking Father just hit her with a rolled-up newspaper?!

“I don’t think so.”

She matched his glare as he took the “oregano” away. He looked the stash over, sniffing it with a curled lip, and he sealed it.

“You spying on me? Shouldn’t you be meditating or something?”

Joseph, as always, was hard to read. She’d always prided herself as an officer in law enforcement being able to read and analyze people’s thoughts and feelings. But Joseph was unlike other people. The Father expressed what he thought pretty openly, but he kept what he _felt_ pretty tightly under wrap. He spoke more in the way he moved, and the way he moved was different than most.

“I was. But you know what they say,” Joseph said coolly. “Silence is golden, unless you have a child. Then silence is suspicious.”

Oh, haha. Very funny. So, the Father was capable of sarcasm. _And here I thought John was the only one with a sense of humor in the family…_

She pursed her lips, feeling cheeky. “Okay, _Dad_. A little weed isn’t gonna kill me. It’s God’s natural remedy for surviving the apocalypse or something. Just think of it as your precious Bliss drug you crammed down people’s throats, but not as brainwashing and damaging.”

The cult leader didn’t look like he was up to arguing with her today. For the first time since they’d known each other, she saw Joseph fucking Seed roll his eyes. He left the room, taking the stash with him.

“Jerk,” she muttered.

She wasn’t stupid. He would be back to check through the rest of the trunk. Mary scooped up the bottle of moonshine and tucked it under her shirt, and like a sneaky teenager slipped through the hallways into her room to hide it under her bed.

After a while, Mary realized the ache in her belly becoming increasingly unbearable, throat dry. She hated Joseph having all of the control, but as long as she was cuffed and weak from lack of nutrition, just barely swallowing the crippling guilt, she would never be able to get the upper hand on him. She also struggled with depression and occasionally suicidal thoughts, but she assumed she felt too exhausted to actually go through with them. At least for now.

All she could do was be passive-aggressive as hell, and see how much she could get under her keeper’s skin. How much patience did Joseph Seed have? Well, she wanted to test that theory out. _Curious mind and all that._

Mary was reminded of John. She could make a field guide to all the passive-aggressive expeditions she tossed onto the Baptist. How many times did she and Sharky set off fireworks right outside his bedroom window in the middle of the night? Enough to get armed guards and cameras installed apparently. How many times did she graffiti his signs, outposts, and personal belongings with _“FUCK NO”_ just to watch him throw his tantrums?

But John loved to return the favor. He was a game player. She was the most distracted while in Holland Valley. She missed their games, even missed the smug asshole himself.

The Deputy wondered what Joseph would do if she did succeed in riling him up. The worst he could do would be to lock her up again. But he might relinquish some control, or even kill her. She was feeling numb inside, not even caring anymore.

She made her way into the command room. Mary had watched him a lot in here. If he wasn’t staring at the walls or the pictures of his dead siblings, he was pacing a groove into the floor. Pacing like a lion in a cage, just like she had done in one of Jacob’s cages.

The cult leader wrote a lot in a blank notebook (his dreams or visions perhaps?), read through the same notes and files from Dutch. He even stole her copy of the Book of Joseph ( _it was for evidence!)_ to flip through and keep close. All in all, he kept to himself, and she wondered how he could close himself up so easily.

Joseph sat in the corner by the busted CB radio, head against the cement wall, staring blankly up at the US flag that was tacked to the ceiling. Mary silently entered, watching him. As if he sensed her, he rolled his head along the wall, eyes finding hers and narrowing.

Mary was getting good at reading his glares. This one read: _What are you up to?_

If there was an eye twitch she missed, then it actually meant: _Be gone, demon._

Mary pretended not to take notice of his scrutiny, walking right over to the record player. She could tell by his grimace that he was having another headache. Good.

The Deputy glared right at him as she flicked the needle down onto the record player and turned it on. Oldies rock boomed on after a sharp, hissing crackle from the speakers. Well, it would get her point across. She turned the volume up, eyes not leaving his.

Joseph’s glare remained, deep blue eyes piercing her like knives, and she did see one eye twitch. Oh? Was the Father finally running out of never-ending patience? She wondered if he had a temper like John.

Joseph rose, his abs flexing as he moved his lithe body. Mary remained glued where she was by the record player, shaking either nervously or excitedly that she was about to get some sort of confrontation. She thought maybe he was getting up to leave, but he walked over to her in just a few strides of his long legs. And she glared at him, daring him. Daring him to do what, she didn’t know, she just needed something!

He stopped inches from her, reaching over her for the controls of the record player. He would turn it off, she presumed. So much for confrontation. She would just turn it back on.

The volume blared up even louder, nearly breaking her eardrum and she winced. She barely caught it before it was gone, but she saw the arrogance skulking in his eyes before he composed himself. He had just as much Pride buried in him as she had Wrath buried in her.

Mary reached over to turn the volume up even higher. She wasn’t sure what this was becoming, but she wasn’t backing down now.

But the volume was already all the way up. It made her break the glaring contest to look down, fiddling with the volume dial to make sure. Damn it. She didn’t let it falter her. The Deputy returned his glare with a bit more bite. They remained like that as the record played, song after song. And Mary thought she was going to die, suffering in the process, because she was foolish enough to challenge him at something that had to do with fucking patience to begin with.

In the end, her tenacity paid off. The record shut off at the end, and all became silent. Her thrumming eardrums gave her a headache, but she did it. However, as they stood inches apart, still glaring each other down, she wasn’t exactly sure what this was anymore. Was she supposed to start the record again, or do they now keep this staring contest without music making them go deaf?

She was sweating. Why was this so uncomfortable? Why did he have such pretty eyes? She glared at him harder, hating him for using that against her. And for the love of God, why did he feel like he still had to walk around shirtless like some sort of hipster Jesus?!

Her stomach growled. So loud. It echoed through the command center. Joseph looked away first, his eyes lowering to the source of such an awkward bellow. She took that as victory for whatever it was they had been doing for the past hour.

Sighing, Joseph rolled his neck and turned away from her. “Stubborn woman.”

He walked out of the communications room while holding his head. She felt quite triumphant until her stomach growled in disapproval. And now she had a headache, too. Great.

Mary heaved a sigh, collapsing onto a chair and connected her forehead to the table the record player sat on. She scratched at her wrists where the cuffs had started to rub her skin raw. Welts and bruises decorated her wrists from their constant tugging and scraping. She sat in silence, ears ringing in her head now that the blaring music had ceased.

She tried to keep her mind busy, tried to ignore the hunger pains. As time passed, she became increasingly restless, a pressure building in her chest, a churning in her gut that made it so hard to breathe. She tried not to think of Sarah, tried not to think of John, Jacob, Faith, or her friends. Tried not to think how her life had been taken from her in the blink of a moment, after months of conflict. She would never get to do all the things she wanted to do in her life, go to the places she had wanted to see. Marriage and a family? Gone. Growing old in a career of law enforcement protecting the innocent? Never.

She thought about Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt. Her first family when she had transferred to Hope County. She and Joey had become fast friends, they were partners. Staci teased her for being a rookie, but he flirted like there was no tomorrow when no one was looking. Earl…he had been like a father to her, something she hadn’t had since she was a child. She missed Joey and Staci’s banter when they gathered for morning coffee, Whitehorse shaking his head like a dad would over bickering children.

Their lives were taken from them too. Just like all her other friends she had made in the Resistance. They wouldn’t get to enjoy any of their dreams or fulfill any wishes they had. But the difference was they didn’t know any better now…they were dead, while Mary was trapped in limbo somewhere in between.

She couldn’t take it anymore. The Deputy rose, unaware of how much time had passed. Could have been minutes or hours, the bunker was a realm of lost time to her. Feeling like she was going to have a panic attack, biting back a groan and squeezing tears back, she looked through the rooms for Joseph, needing some kind of distraction…or interaction, she didn’t fucking care at this point. Plus, she couldn’t take the hunger anymore.

She found the Father laying on the sofa in the den, head propped on the arm rest, his hands clasped across his firm, muscular belly. He was too tall to fit on it comfortably, legs dangling over the other end. The room was dark, save for the blue glow of the fish tank. Maybe he was sleeping. He wasn’t moving. She could barely make out the rise and fall of his bare chest within the little light.

She was tempted to kick his leg. And she almost did, until his soft voice reached out and made her jump.

“Yes, Mary?”

She saw the clock in the room. After four in the morning. Their sleep schedule (or lack thereof) was all messed up. She huffed in annoyance, building herself up to ask. It didn’t help that his tone sounded as though he had expected her in some way.

“Let’s talk,” she said.

Joseph rose from his spot on the sofa. He clicked on a lamp, and she squinted and blinked to adjust her eyes. She immediately noticed his hair was down, dark locks falling around his neck and face. It was the first time she had seen him with it down, and it stunned her. Joseph walked over to the kitchen table and pulled a chair out for her. Mary took it without a word and watched him round the table and sit opposite of her.

She stared at his loose hair longer than intended, Joseph yawning as he waited for her to speak. She blinked, focusing on his face. He looked…tired. Sad even. Of course, he was sad. She still heard him weep at night, still heard him scream from nightmares. It was no different for her.

“C-Can you go first?” she mumbled. “I suck at these things.”

Joseph contemplated across from her, his eyes pulling something from within her, as if he had the ability to read her inner conflict. He rubbed a knuckle over his scarred nose and leaned back in the chair.

“Maybe you should just speak from your heart,” he said.

_Oh my god, are you a shrink now? If that’s the case, shoot me._

She glared at him. “Why did you kill Dutch?”

His eyes fell to the table and he slowly laced his hands together on its surface. “God called him home.”

“You murdered him…when he offered all of us shelter here.”

“This place,” Joseph gently broke his fingers apart, lifting them to emphasize the bunker, his eyes going to the ceiling. “Was meant solely for us. No one else. This will be our sanctuary.”

“It’s our hell,” she spat.

Joseph took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your friend. It was quick. He didn’t suffer. Not like us. We’re suffering. And now we have nothing but time together.”

“Do you get some sort of satisfaction holding your mercy over my head?” Mary snapped. “I didn’t ask to be saved! You could’ve left me to burn! You just wanted to gloat about being right.”

She saw the twitch in his jaw, but he remained composed. “I saved you because God told me to. And we must do what He asks of us…no matter what. No matter if I wanted to put my hands around your neck and squeeze and squeeze and _squeeze_ until you asphyxiated on your sins.”

She looked away, shifting uncomfortably from his sharp gaze. She glanced at the colorful fish as they lazily swam along the glass. The water was getting murkier. The tank would need to be cleaned, or they would have to sacrifice the fish to Lord Commode.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, returning his gaze. “I had goals…dreams! My life is no longer mine! If there is a God then he’s only ever taken from me.”

“You think God thinks it’s fair what man has done to His world? Divisiveness? Apathy? Greed and hate? War and segregation and shallowness?” Joseph gave a hollow laugh. “You think I wanted this? Any of it? You think I wanted to spend twenty years of my life haunted by what I saw? What I heard? You think it’s fair that my brothers and sister and my flock and all that I’d built and fought for under God’s instructions were _taken_ from me? Fair that I had to show the source of all my anguish _mercy_?”

She didn’t say anything, but she kept his hard gaze with her own. The Father inhaled a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly, a little tension leaving his body, but the sharpness in his stare still remaining.

“Life,” he hissed, eyes falling to the tattoo on his right forearm for a few seconds, “isn’t fair. My brothers and I learned this when we were children. When God gave us freewill, we were the ones who cast fairness aside. All we can do is what God asks of us, no matter what it is.” His eyes softened, the crease in his forehead disappearing with his scowl. “You still have a purpose. Yes, He is punishing you, but you do not punish someone you do not intend to forgive. The Lord loves you, Mary. If He didn’t, you would’ve burned like the others.”

“I know I fucked up a lot…but what I was doing…It was all for the greater good. I was trying to save lives. You were kidnapping people…putting them through torture, splitting up families and killing others. I saw John fillet more people than I ever saw someone fillet a fucking fish. Jacob turned people into the type of monsters he could control. And Faith? Tell me where in your scriptures does it say those damned Angels were any sort of saved souls?”

Joseph tensed as though the mention of his lost family opened up inner wounds. Mary had to get him to see just how corrupt they were…what kind of horrors he, too, put people through.

“Greater good? That’s a matter of perspective,” Joseph half-growled. “I could say the same for my family…they did all those things for the greater good…to save souls.” Joseph sighed, deflating a little. “But I will not deny they took it too far at times. They were all haunted by demons, beasts made from circumstances out of their control and never let it go. I did my best to guide and mend them, but even that wasn’t enough. And I was right, as much as I wanted to be wrong. John was slain by his own sin. Faith was lost in her own deception. And Jacob was devoured by his own creed.”

Silence ate at them. Mary was ready to stick him with another barb about his family, but the sorrow in his eyes subdued her and she bit her tongue. Besides, it wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t believe her if she said she had tried better approaches between the heralds, but it always went sideways.

When Jacob used her to kill Eli, her wrath was ignited. But just before that she had tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault that his brothers were taken and separated. He was strong enough. He protected them. Society was what pulled them apart.

After all Mary had done to save Burke, Faith lashed out like a spoiled child, killing innocent people in the process. And Mary had just tried to have a heart-to-heart with her about being ostracized by family and friends…it had happened to her, and that Faith didn’t have to do any of this for love and acceptance.

And John…oh, John. No matter how much she pleaded, he just wanted the world to burn. Wanted everyone in this world to get what scourged him his entire childhood and young adult life. Feel the same pain and helplessness.

Joseph stood up, snapping her out of her thoughts. He ran a hand over his face, turning and walking over to the nearby refrigerator. She remained where she was, his movements like a soft shadow, and the clanking of tupperware and dishes echoing around them and over the filter of the fish tank.

“That’s the thing about family,” Joseph said as he prepared something on the counter. “Despite their faults and sins…and all the horrible things they can do…you are still willing to protect them, even if it means making innocent people pay the price. Blood is thicker than water. Always.”

Mary flinched, clenching her fingers on the table and making nails dig into the wood. She looked at his muscular back, the dark locks disheveled around his neck and the large Eden’s Gate symbol tattoo that haunted her dreams.

“And what if your family is completely innocent and good and they’re the ones who suffer? Why are they taken away when they’ve done nothing wrong?”

Joseph paused. He slowly turned around, the rosary swinging in his hand as he peered at her. There was a new look on his face, one of mild curiosity and concern, but he didn’t voice any words for a long moment. He leaned on the counter, thinking as he almost seemed to search her soul with his stare. Again, Mary saw his eyes travel to the pretty face on his arm, jaw ticking.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh,” he whispered, and the Deputy wasn’t sure if he was saying that to her or himself. He mildly shook his head, reaching up to scratch at his mane. “The old world was vile and cruel, and it made it so easy to prey upon the innocent and pure. God calls some home to Him, uses those losses as tests, while others endure and overcome, emerging as victors in a world driven by depravity. And then you have those…like John, who started out so innocent and sweet…who become monsters, a husk of human nature’s worst traits, and breed a vicious cycle.”

Mary dropped her eyes to the table. Sarah had been taken from her. She never had a chance to endure or overcome, or even had a chance to become a monster like John. At least as a monster, there could still be a chance of redemption.

A plate of food was placed in front of her. She looked at it, then up at Joseph as he set utensils and a cup of water down near the plate.

“I’m sorry about Sarah.”

Hearing her name come from his lips made her snap. Seeing red, Mary lunged out of her chair with a fork. The utensil raked across Joseph’s collarbone, just above one of the sparrow tattoos, even though she had aimed for his face. He grabbed her, picked her up like she weighed nothing and swung her around. Mary forgot how weak she still was, but she kicked and swung cuffed hands and somehow lost that fork until Joseph had her pinned against a wall.

“How the fuck do you know her name?” she hissed, panting and struggling against his strong hold.

The Father had his body completely up against hers, barring her from fighting. Despite the bleeding on his collarbone and another scuff on his cheek, he didn’t seem too upset with her, and it pissed her off even more.

“You speak her name often in your sleep,” he answered softly. “And given your reaction to me saying her name…she must be a big part of the pain and wrath you carry.”

Mary gave in, huffing in exhaustion, tears building in her eyes. She bashed her head into his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. She bit back a cry, shaking, the guilt hitting her like a truck.

As if he could sense all the fight was out of her, Joseph slowly withdrew. She didn’t realize how warm he was until he pulled away, and the coolness of the bunker crept over her like a ghost.

“When you’re ready…you can tell me about her. For now, my child…you should eat.”

Mary weakly nodded. It made sense that he could’ve heard her speak Sarah’s name. She dreamt of her sister often. She had told only very few friends within the Resistance about her sister and what happened. John tortured it out of her. And she still remembers his words clear as day in the back of her skull after she spilled her heart (and blood, sweat, and tears by his hand) to him.

_“You could’ve prevented it…It’s all your fault.”_

Mary dropped into her chair at the table again, barely holding herself together. She felt Joseph’s eyes on her. She pulled her plate closer, still starving, but no longer having an appetite.

“I figured John maybe told you all about her…about what happened,” she mumbled.

She looked up at him, linked hands going to the tattoo on her chest. Joseph barely smiled, a sad, ironic sort of smile that she barely caught.

“My brother could get a mute to confess their darkest secrets to him. And he often told me many secrets and confessions, especially if I had asked. But you…he avoided the subject. Told me other secrets about you instead. John wasn’t one to deny me knowledge he was privy to. But, for whatever reason, he chose to respect you. And to get that from the Baptist himself…well, consider yourself blessed.”

Her heart did a strange half-flip, half-stutter that left her both sad and grateful. Her eyes lowered to her food, and she thought about John, their strange connection, a heated rivalry and deeper understanding, and something that was never able to be explored.

_Thank you, John…_

Before she knew it, Joseph was placing another fork down by her fingers. Her wet eyes went up to him. He looked about as sad and tired as she felt. A trail of blood seeped down his pectoral. She normally would’ve found that satisfying that she managed to hurt him even just a little bit, but now she really didn’t feel anything.

Joseph didn’t say another word, and headed for the den’s exit, presumably to leave her alone to eat or go clean his cut. Mary watched him go, and just as he reached the threshold, she called out to him.

“She was my sister.”

The Father hesitated in the doorway, body half-covered in sapphire light. He looked over at her, but the shadows of the room didn’t allow her to read him very well, and he left her alone.

 

* * *

 

Joseph dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball over the four thin, jagged cuts just above one sparrow tattoo. He swiped the blood away, ignoring the light burn. He had expected her to lash out when he said Sarah’s name, just not to the extent of such raw anger and pain.

_“She was my sister.”_

The Deputy lost her family as well. Her blood family. Her adopted family in the form of the Sheriff and fellow Deputies of Hope County, the adopted family of her friends in the Resistance.

He had always sensed some kind of inner loneliness and guilt within her, and he assumed that was what fueled her wrath, her blind justice. She hid it skillfully behind sass and stubbornness. Each of his heralds had seen something within her as well, a part of themselves maybe.

They were both mourning, both plagued by nightmares, remorse, and inner demons. They had more in common right now than they ever did before the old world’s demise.

The Father felt relief that he was able to muzzle his wrath a few nights ago. Although he still hadn’t forgiven her for what she had done to him, Joseph felt he could bury his hatred for her over time, letting his inner wounds heal. Mary opening up about Sarah was his sign that he did the right thing. All he had to do now was wait.

“You were right,” Joseph whispered, staring into the mirror, answering the Voice.

Mary wouldn’t make it easy, he knew. They would surely bump heads, she would surely drive his patience to its limits, but God’s will would prevail, just as it had over his.

She had no clue how close she came to her death. And even now, she had no clue what she would become. Joseph would eventually realize he had no clue what she would become either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think the story is finally starting to take off now, this was the longest chapter yet! I have so much planned for this story, I can't wait to share it with you! :D
> 
> Huge shout out to my dear friend and beta reader Ravenprincess. Couldn't have done it without her! <3
> 
> I appreciate all the comments/kudos/hits on this story, thank you everyone! ^.^


	5. Celebration

### Chapter 5: Celebration

Mary adjusted her backpack with a nudge and heave, books and notebooks inside stuffed between gym clothes and a half-eaten lunch. It was muggy today as she and Sarah walked home from school, the sun giving them a preview of impending summer.

Mary walked with eyes forward and thought about what homework she needed to finish and what chores needed to be done when they got home. Their mother had probably put herself in a drug coma by now and so Mary was sure she would have to roll her upright, cook dinner, and take care of Sarah. Different day, same routine.

Her younger sister hopped and skipped next to her, falling behind and catching up again, as she tried to avoid the cracks in the cement, playing a game with herself.

“School’s almost over!” Sarah chimed. “No more stuffy classrooms. Hello fresh air all day long! Emmy, we should get the tent out and camp in the backyard for the first week!”

“That sounds fun, but remember I’ll be working a lot more when school’s out.”

Their mother sure as hell wasn’t going to get them new clothes or supplies, and sometimes it was up to Mary to feed them. She was only thirteen, but she mowed yards and cleaned homes of a few people she knew. In the summer, a friend’s uncle allowed her to work on his ranch in exchange for pay.

Mary had to keep the money locked away in a box and hidden outside her home to keep her mother and whichever man she was with that week from taking it. She hoped she would have enough saved up by Sarah’s birthday to buy her a camera. Her sister was all about photography lately.

“Oh yeah…Can I come too? I can work!”

Sarah stopped skipping, walking alongside Mary, eager and pleading. Mary hated to let her down. She knew Sarah just didn’t want to be at home by herself.

“It’s hard enough for them to pay me, sis. But maybe you can tag along sometimes.”

Sarah was disheartened and lowered her eyes to the sidewalk. “Okay.”

The sisters broke off the pavement, cutting through a park they often played in when their mother had several people over for parties. After the park, they would cross a street and pass by a corner store and then the field with the large tree before coming to the trailer park.

Mary thought of something to cheer Sarah up. “I know! When we set up the tent, we should do it under the tree. We can lay out a blanket just down the hill and look at the stars.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “That sounds awesome!”

“Hey, Samson!”

They jumped, turning around. Mary groaned, recognizing a couple of boys she went to school with. They were around her age, but were not of the same clique she ran with. They were a few classes higher than her in this midwestern town of nowhere as far as social status went. She didn’t care about that though. Simply put, they were bullies and Mary did not like any of their ilk. She had got in trouble numerous times in school for her headstrong drive to put people of the like in their place. She’d been suspended a few times, but luckily enough, the school staff understood she never started fights, only finished them, and helped her keep caught up.

The boys stopped just a few feet from her with sneers, wearing name brand clothes and wide brimmed hats. Dalton and Tony. Both played numerous sports to make themselves look good, but neither were very bright. Their personalities, for sure, were very smudgy.

“What?” Mary asked with a glare. She made sure of Sarah’s position to make sure she was safe.

“Dalton and I were just wonderin’ if you fucked as many guys as your mom.”

Mary balled a fist tight, but rolled her eyes. “Oh, how original. Like I haven’t heard that before. Be a little more creative next time, huh? One that will make it worth it popping you in the face.”

“Well, I mean, can you blame them for asking so much? Your mom is like the biggest slum whore in town. Does she pass out drugs like candy to kids too?”

“If she does, I’ll be sure to let you know. Because drugs would definitely improve your brain function, and you need it bad.”

“C’mon, Emmy, let’s go,” Sarah whispered nervously.

“What’s the matter, little girl? In a hurry to go home and see your momma fucki-”

Mary slugged Tony in the face, a sickening crack giving under her knuckles as she broke his nose. Blood spilled like it was coming out of a faucet, but Mary didn’t stop there. She shoved into him, pummeling him some more with her fists. Dalton tried to stop her, yelling out. Sarah cried in surprise. When Mary felt Dalton’s hands on her, she grabbed his fingers and twisted, threatening to break them and he buckled. She shoved him into Tony, who cried and covered his nose. Dark red liquid gushed from his nostrils down his face and shirt.

“You should’ve left my sister out of it, you fucking cunts.” The boys bailed, turning and running back the way they came. Mary hollered at their backs, still fuming. “Yeah, that’s it! Run like the chickenshits you are!”

Mary grabbed Sarah’s hand and started to hurry home. “Come on.”

“Why did you do that?! Are you okay?!”

Her hand pounded in pain, but it didn’t bother her. Too much adrenaline, and besides, totally worth it. “I’m fine. I was protecting you.”

“I just ignore mean words. Better than hurting others or yourself.”

They slowed once they reached the field and headed up the hill to the tree. Mary weakly smiled. “Some people deserve it. And you should never ignore mean words when they are directed at someone you love or someone who cannot defend themselves.”

Sarah frowned. “But didn’t Daddy used to say that fighting is wrong? That we should try and resolve conflict through reason and understanding?”

“Yeah, but some people don’t understand. Some people don’t care to. And Daddy also said to never stand by and let bullies put victims down. If you’re in a position you can help, you help.”

“That sounds a little contradicting.”

Mary laughed, and playfully smacked her little sister in the arm. “Not really. There’s like a system to it. Just depends on the amount of injustice at hand. You’ll understand one day.”

As they came over the hill under the large oak tree to see into their cluttered yard, the sisters saw a big injustice in their lives in the form of a familiar beat up red pickup truck and the towering, beer-bellied, pig-faced man that drove it.

 

* * *

The next week had Mary up and down, suffering from bad dreams and very real-like recollections of memories as though she were there. As though her life up until now was the dream, and she was waking back in her old life with her sister, or with her friends in the Resistance. And then she would return to reality. Sometimes she wondered if it was a side effect of all the Bliss she had been exposed to in the past few months before the Collapse.

The guilt crawled under her skin like an infection. Left her with hardly any appetite or energy. She avoided the Father, and when he did make her sit down to talk, there was either silence between them or some kind of preaching on his part, which usually went in one ear and out the other. On the few days she felt better, she tested him. Goaded him. More trying to get her mind off whatever ate at her than actually anger or hurt him. But Joseph never took the bait. Just watched her like she was a caged animal with a behavioral disorder. Circling and circling, trapped and confused.

Later in the week, when Mary sat down with him, expecting unbearable silence or a just as unbearable sermon, Joseph instead cleaned and bandaged her wrists where the handcuffs had continued to scrape and welt her, causing bruises and cuts. Besides everything else going on internally with her, she hardly noticed the pain. Interestingly enough, Mary could tell that Joseph was experienced in not only tending wounds, but tending wounds on another person, and then she recalled he had worked in a mental hospital or something and cared for patients.

She hadn’t heard him weeping as much at night, and wondered if he was slowly getting over the death of his family and the destruction of his work, or if he was simply getting better at concealing the pain. He meditated a lot, and she found him scribbling notes faster in the notebook he kept hidden. He also kept up a strict schedule of workouts that Mary curiously pondered about but also kept well away from as he did them.

While awake, Mary kept her mind busy to keep the sick feeling away. She read Dutch’s diary some more, and that only seemed to make it worse. She tried listening to music, and not the passive-aggressive-staring-contest-with-Joseph kind of music. She tried watching an old movie in the den, but she couldn’t keep still enough to watch it.

At least Joseph let her take a shower without the cuffs on, but he stood outside the door with a gun. She appreciated that he let her have some privacy. Although Joseph  _ usually _ had the decency to dress after his showers, he was also shameless enough to not care if she saw him. He one time walked directly into the infirmary from a bad headache he was having while still completely naked and wet from the shower, past a very stunned and flustered Mary. He normally never took painkillers unless they were really bad, but Mary got to see just as much of the bottom half as she did the top half and, once over the shock, had quite a few colorful words to throw at him while he held his aching head.  _ Way to scare an unsuspecting girl, dude! _

Besides Sarah, she thought of her friends in the Resistance a lot. She remembered all they had done for her and all she had done for them. They were all gone. All lost. She still couldn’t believe it to be real. Mary could feel the familiar feeling of wanting to die slosh around inside her like an acidic, bubbling eddy. She felt the familiar sickness of delusion from denial and guilt that crippled her for over a month when they first took shelter here that Joseph eventually woke her from.

That night, she dreamed of the Ryes. She sat with them in their humble home, talking, laughing. Mary held the pink little bundle that was their newborn daughter, Carmina. They talked about their future after Eden’s Gate was gone and what they thought Carmina would become once she grew up. And then she heard it: the thunderous boom and the quaking of the earth. The sounds of sirens. They looked out the window, saw the massive mushroom cloud, and the air turned hot as fire and then everything was on fire. Burning, crumbling, _ falling apart _ .

Mary awoke drenched in cold sweat, throat sore and dry from crying and gasping. She sat up in bed, covering her face and screaming into her hands. With trembling nerves, she stood, pacing around, shaking her tear-soaked fingers and fanning herself.

Only a sliver of light from the hallway spilled into her room, but she didn’t need it nor care about it. Her heart rammed in her ribcage, she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears and she couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard she sucked in, her lungs couldn’t be filled. She could only guess that she was having a panic attack and raced to the den to splash water on her face.

The dream made the reality hit her like a semi-truck: they were all dead. It was all over. Everything she fought for was for nothing. All the good she tried to do ended up being no good at all. She would never cuddle or play with Boomer again. She would never kick back some drinks with the Ryes or Mary May again. Mary would never do any wild antics with Sharky or Hurk ever again. She and Grace would never have marksmanship contests ever again. The Deputy wouldn’t get terrible advice about men from Adelaide anymore, or inspirational assurances from Pastor Jerome. She and Jess wouldn’t take anymore hikes through the wilderness and enjoy nature. Mary wouldn’t be playing cards with Dutch anymore while listening to his take on life. Just like Sarah…just like her first family here in Hope County. All gone,  _ forever _ .

Why didn’t she get to join them? Why was she the one to survive? Out of all the people to survive this nightmarish shit show...why did it have to be  _ HER _ ?

Hot tears streamed down her face, and she bit back a painful groan. As she slipped into the den, she stopped short. Joseph was at the table, hands clasped around a ceramic mug, staring into nothingness. He looked like he had been up awhile, or hadn’t been sleeping well. Before Mary could slip out of the room unnoticed, he caught sight of her. He nodded across from him, offering the seat.

Mary hesitated, clenching her hands to stop them from trembling. With a shaky breath she gave in and silently sat down across from him, head lowered, eyes avoiding. Her heartbeat was all over the place, and it was still so hard to breathe.

The sound of something sliding across the wood table met her ears, and she looked up. Joseph had pushed the mug across to her, and steam softly curled out of it. It was too dark to see the color of the liquid, with only the fish tank providing any sort of light, but to her it smelled like some kind of tea or herbs.

“It’ll help you sleep.”

She looked up at him. His eyes entrapped her and she was lost on exactly what kind of vibe was coming from him. She wanted to remark that it didn’t look like it worked on him, but bit her tongue.

Mary took the mug with a nod. “Thank you.”

Sipping the hot beverage, she realized it was chamomile tea. Commonly used to combat insomnia and help reduce stress. The hot liquid spread throughout her body as it hit her stomach, and she felt that she could start breathing again.

“Difficulty breathing?”

Mary nodded, avoiding his intense blue eyes. She always felt like she could be put under a spell if she met his gaze.

“The trick is not to drown.”

She looked up. She thought it was an odd choice of words. Because, well, she  _ did _ feel like she was drowning. Drowning in sorrows, drowning in guilt, drowning in stress and hopelessness.

“In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me. From deep in the realm of the dead called for help, and you listened to my cry. You hurled me into the depths, into the very heart of the seas, and the currents swirled about me; all your waves and breakers swept over me. I said, ‘I have been banished from your sight; yet I will look again toward your holy temple.’ The engulfing waters threatened me, the deep surrounded me; seaweed was wrapped around my head. To the roots of the mountains, I sank down; the earth beneath barred me in forever. But you, Lord my God, brought my life up from the pit. When my life was ebbing away, I remembered you, Lord, and my prayer rose to you, to your holy temple.”

Mary recalled the verse and weakly snorted. “I doubt I’ll be engulfed by a whale anytime soon.”

“No, but there are other monsters of the deep lurking inside you, ready to pull you deeper, and they will drown you.”

“Why me?” Mary asked with a shake of her head. “Why did you…or God, or whatever…save me? What is this purpose I supposedly have? Why am I getting a second chance over so many better people?”

Joseph tiredly rubbed his temple, watching Mary take another drink of the hot tea. “He doesn’t tell me all at once, but soon I will see the full picture. You were a larva in the old world, and you ate your way through the leaves of sanctity of my Project. Now you are a chrysalis, metamorphosing into your next form, something grander. Not a butterfly, but a moth.”

“A…moth?”

Joseph’s lips twitched. “Don’t sound so disappointed. It’s what the moth represents. Adaption and disguise, loyalty, protection, faith, determination, vulnerability, allure and intuition…death but also new life.”

“Uh-huh…” Well, her friends often did describe her as a moth to a flame when it came to disaster. “And uh, what are you exactly?”

Joseph cocked his head, eyes slightly narrowing. “A shepherd without a flock.”

Mary glanced over the shadowy tattoo of the crown on his chest. “That’s just a nicer way of saying a king without servants.”

His hollow chuckle made her spine ice up. Probably would’ve been better to have kept that thought to herself. She saw the faint conceit flash through his eyes like shadows passing over headlights.

“It’s a miracle you’ve gone this long without someone cutting your tongue off.”

“It really is,” she agreed. Mary lost count how many times Jacob threatened her with that red combat knife to her lips. Like a typical Friday night when she was locked in his cages. But she didn’t mention that, not wanting to trigger Joseph.

“The lips of fools bring them strife, and their mouths invite a beating.”

She looked up from her warm mug, the same arrogant smile that haunted her from when they first came into the bunker creeping onto his lips. She didn’t exactly want to get into a scripture rapping contest with Joseph Seed of all people, but she did have the perfect one come to her.

“But when his heart became arrogant and hardened with pride, he was deposed from his kingly throne and stripped of his glory.”

The Father leaned back in his chair, and if anything, that sneer enlarged. “Choose your battles wisely, my child.”

It was a distinct warning. Mary dismissed it with a sigh. In his defense, she was the one who started it, but she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. The Deputy chugged the rest of her tea, the warm liquid soothing her sore throat. She must’ve been crying louder this time.

“That monster of the deep has already snared you,” Joseph said, and Mary returned his gaze. Gentleness was there now, a tang of pity. “I see it in your eyes. It pulls you deeper into the abyss of desolation and guilt. You will eventually drown.”

The stormy emotions from her dreams stirred within her chest and she squeezed the mug in her hands. “How do I stop it?”

“You confess. And you repent. And God will grant you peace and forgiveness.”

Mary shook her head. “No. No, I’m not doing that. Look at you! You look just as shitty as me if you’ve done it. Doesn’t work!”

“God forgives some misdoings faster than others. Our punishment for what we did in the old world is our sentence down here. But at the same time, it is our gift and haven, where we will be born anew like the new world. But the peace you seek can only be gained by confessing. It will make the rest of your punishment bearable.”

Mary shook her head. “I’m not ready.”

Joseph shrugged. “You are the one standing out in the storm when I offer you shelter under my wing. You can only fight the current for so long as you are pulled deeper, can only hold your breath for so long until you drown in despair.”

The Deputy groaned loudly, smacking her head down on the table. “Oh my god!” She raised her head and glared at him. “Look. You want me to confess and atone? You gotta throw me a bone here, Joseph! I can’t do this religious shit 24/7. Talk to me like a normal fucking human being. At least pretend to be one for a little while. And  _ maybe _ I will open up to you!”

By how his brows creased, Mary didn’t think he would go for it. Joseph looked her over, thinking. And she was shocked when he nodded.

“As you wish. Deal.”

“Really? Great. Awesome. Thank you!”

“I hope you know that-”

“Ah-ah-ah!” she hissed. “Let’s do a little test run. I’m sure you need the practice. I’ll start.” She cleared her throat dramatically and Joseph rolled his eyes. “Good morning, Joseph. How are you?”

“It’s afternoon.”

_ Oh. Man, we really need to work on our sleeping schedules. _ Mary sighed. “Whatever. How are you?”

Joseph kept her gaze, just as bullheaded as her underneath all that patience, composure, and pride. “As well as can be expected while trapped underground with one obstinate child.”

“Know the feeling. My roommate is super controlling and so delusional he thinks he’s my dad.”

That smirk again. Mary started to think she was trying to bring it out of him on purpose. Joseph rubbed the dark hair of his beard, and his eyes seemed to enchant her in some way. It made her lose her nerve.

“Perhaps he’s just trying to help you.”

“Perhaps he just likes being a dick.” Mary’s eyes fell to the warm, empty mug she was still clasping, took notice of the fresh bandages on her wrists. She sighed.  “But…maybe not all the time.”

“Oh? How so?”

Mary chewed on her lip. “He…can make some good tea.”

Joseph was quiet for a long moment, slightly shaking his head. Mary couldn’t tell if he was faintly amused or just as uncomfortable as she was. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Would you like more tea?”

“Finally, you take the hint.”

Mary knew he saw right through it though. Their test drive for “normal human interaction” fell flat, all because she wasn’t ready to accept that Joseph Seed, infamous cult leader, worshipped prophet and batshit insane manipulator...that living, breathing package labeled “positively do  _ not _ open”... was going to be her only available source of human contact for the next seven years. 

_ Seven. Fucking. Years. Kill me now. _

“Seems like you’re the one who needs to practice conventional conversations.”

“Hey, I mingle quite well, thank you. It’s because it’s  _ you _ . It’s weird, okay? After all we’ve done to each other, and now this… _ living arrangement _ . I guess I just still don’t know how to handle it.”

Joseph slowly stood, reaching over and taking the mug he had passed to her. He took it over to the kitchen counter where she watched him pour some more chamomile tea from a teapot.

A wry smile was barely seen through bubbling blue light from the fish tank, and Joseph mildly shook his head.

“What?” Mary asked, feeling he wanted to say something but was keeping quiet.

“You wouldn’t appreciate what I would have to say. Normal talk, and the like.” He sat the mug down before her and reclaimed his seat. “But the gist of it is that life never turns out as we expect it to.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“And this is  _ our _ life…for the next seven years. Our cross to bear. Our punishment and our salvation. Our death and our rebirth. And as I have said before, Mary, this can be our hell or it can be our haven. It’s up to you.”

Mary tapped a finger on the table, cuffs jingling. “It’s a two-way street, Joseph. It’s up to both of us to make this work.”

That judgmental holier-than-thou leer returned to his lips as he rose from his chair. Mary’s stomach lightly flipped. Joseph stopped just at her side next to the table. Her eyes fell even on his muscular abs. She took notice of the scars that riddled his body and looked away, met his gaze instead. She flinched, as though she expected him to grab her, choke her, with the familiar flex of his hands, reminiscent of John. But he didn’t. And Mary recalled that it had been awhile since she saw or felt any sort of murderous intent from him at all. But what she felt coming from him right now was something eerily parallel to when he towered over her their first night in this bunker while Dutch laid dead at her feet.

“That it is,” he whispered. “And yet I’m the one who’s put in more effort, despite losing  _ everything _ to you.”

Mary lowered her eyes. She tensed when his fingers ran through her hair, and she wasn’t sure if he was being gentle or threatening.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”

The Father slipped by her and left the den. His words fell over her as she stared into the fresh cup of chamomile tea. And she recalled their meaning. Communion, fellowship. People needed each other, were not meant to be solitary. People made each other better by being together, and holding each other accountable for their behavior and virtue.

Mary sighed, sipping her tea, eyeing the cuffs and her fresh bandages. She knew life would be easier if she just gave a little. The Deputy wasn’t giving Joseph enough credit. She didn’t think she could leave the murderer of her family alive in a bunker with herself for seven years. The mere thought made her clench the mug hard, despite the hot surface burning her palms.

But Joseph was still Joseph Seed, the Father, the megalomaniac - albeit charismatic - cult leader of Eden’s Gate. It was hard to give him  _ anything _ after what he had done to her, what she went through with his brothers and sister and his entire Project in general. They both viewed themselves as the hero of their own story and the other as the villain. Their communion may have been on a two-way street, but that street was full of potholes and nails and a whole lot of roadkill.

Crossing it wouldn’t be easy.

 

* * *

The following few days weren’t much different than the ones before, except that Mary had a break in her nightmares. It didn’t mean she slept any better though. Her appetite was still lacking, but the handful of times she sat down to talk with the Father in exchange for her meals didn’t progress the roommates any from their current condition. Joseph seemed distracted, and one sit down he was plagued by one of his puzzling migraines.

When Dutch’s birthday rolled around, Mary sat in her room flipping through Dutch’s diary some more, mourning her old friend and what he had done for her and the people of Hope County. It brought back the fresh wounds of her previous batch of nightmares.

She stumbled upon an entry where Dutch mused over the end of the world, and what it would look like and what mankind would come out to.

_ “I ain’t much of an adventurer, not anymore. This bunker is my hermit shell, and will be even after the end of the world. Guess it doesn’t matter what’s after the end, so long as my family is safe. We can take it on together.” _

Mary slapped the worn diary shut, closing her eyes. It took her a minute to get over the ache that hit her heart. And she realized, _this_ was why she couldn’t kill herself. Not after everything. Not after surviving so much. This whole time of wanting to die, but not being able to go through with it...now it made sense to her why she could never work up the courage to pull through. Dutch, her friends, her sister…none of them would get to see the new world. And after what they’ve all done for her, it would be disgraceful of her to off herself. To _not_ make use of the second chance she’d been given, no matter how undeserved.

It was partly her fault they were gone anyway. It wasn’t just survivor’s guilt that ate at her, it was guilt for what she had done while fighting Eden’s Gate. And it felt like a ton of bricks tied to her feet as she sank. So many “what ifs” and “I should have done this”. Maybe if there had been less conflict and more compromising, they would’ve had time to prepare. Perhaps they would’ve seen the signs as clearly as Joseph had.

It was only because of Dutch that she and Joseph were even still alive. He paid with his life for it. All the blood, sweat, and tears, all of the money he spent to ensure this bunker would outlast the end of the world for his family; it was how she and Joseph would be able to make it, and no one else. Dutch was prepared and had thought everything through. Besides the Eden’s Gates bunkers that she destroyed, and the lives that could’ve been saved along with them, Mary couldn’t think of any other prepper bunkers in the county that could compare, could have given anyone a realistic chance.

“That’s it,” Mary grumbled, rolling off her bed. 

She wasn’t going to let Dutch’s sacrifice, hard work and dedication be in vain - and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him be forgotten.

Mary reached under her bed and retrieved the stashed moonshine bottle. She stomped to the kitchen and fetched some shot glasses. Joseph was next door in the communications room sitting at a table reading a book.

As she slammed the moonshine bottle down, she had half a second to realize and be surprised that his book wasn’t religion themed at all but about farming and living off the land.

_Yeah sure,_ _like we’re gonna be doing that anytime soon. Or ever._

Joseph didn’t flinch from the noise, slowly looking up at her and then to the bottle on the table. His eyes narrowed just as she set out the two shot glasses. Joseph must’ve sensed her resolve, and perhaps the big speech she prepared to give as she cleared her throat. He tossed the book to the side and laced his fingers together with elbows on the table, waiting.

“You and I are going to celebrate Dutch’s birthday…have a few drinks, give him a proper reception like he deserves. You killed him, and yet it’s because of him and the hard work he did to this bunker that we  _ both _ are even alive at this point and have a chance at surviving. He saved my life that night I tried to arrest you and did nothing but help me and my friends in all of this. Dutch deserves it. He earned that much respect.”

“As you wish.”

“I ain’t taking no for an answer! I will – wait, what?”

Joseph motioned to the alcohol. “You’re right. We should celebrate his life. Pour the drinks, child.”

Mary stood dumbfounded for a minute gaping like a fish before she slowly sat down across from him. She glared at him, trying to figure out what he had up his sleeve, but she saw no arrogance in his eyes, nothing vile in the least. Furrowing brows, she reached out and opened the bottle of moonshine.

“O-okay.”

That was weird. She had a whole speech planned out if he was going to fight her and everything. Mary poured them a couple of shots and slid his across to him. Joseph stared at it with uncertainty, lip slightly curling as though he was beholding something rancid. He rolled his neck and picked his drink up.

Mary smirked, raising her glass up. “To Dutch. Thank you for all that you’ve done, my friend. Rest well.”

Joseph clinked his glass with hers and they both took the shot. The burn hit her throat and she slapped the table with a cough. Joseph put a fist to his mouth, wincing.

She wheezed. “Oh, man.”

“That is horrible stuff.”

“I know, isn’t it great?”

He reluctantly pushed his shot glass back to her and she poured them another round.

“It gets easier, don’t worry. Drinking’s against your religion, right?”

“Normally,” Joseph replied, taking his next shot from her with a grimace.

_ You weren’t around John often, were you? _

Jacob drank some too, but John was definitely the party boy of the brood. If he hadn’t been such a sadistic asshole with a penchant for filleting people like fish, he would’ve got along great with all the partiers in the Resistance, especially Hurk and Sharky.

“Well, I appreciate you setting that aside to celebrate in Dutch’s honor.”

“I’m sure I will regret it later.”

She laughed. “No, you won’t. You gotta loosen up once in a while, Joseph! It’s not healthy for a person to be as tightly wound as you are all the time.”

He smiled. Perhaps the first genuine smile she had seen from him, and she nearly choked as she took her shot.

“You sound like…never mind.” Joseph sighed, his eyes falling to his right forearm, and he gulped his second round.

Before she could pry, Joseph coughed at the aftertaste and pushed his shot glass to her, face reddening. “I’m truly sorry for your friend. It was circumstantial…I didn’t hate the man. But I did what God told me to do.”

Mary got the third round ready and pushed his back to him, lips thinning. “Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said, swishing his drink around in the glass. “It was the right place, right time for you and I. And Mr. Roosevelt’s place and time was only ever here, whether it was wrong or right, it doesn’t matter.”

After the third shot, her head lightened. Mary fanned herself, knowing her face had to be red as the burn sizzled down her throat.

“Are you a lightweight?” Mary asked.

Joseph pinched the scar on the bridge of his nose. “Probably.”

She laughed again. “Come on scary cult leader, you can do it.”

“Encouragement from you is like the devil on my shoulder.”

“Oh gee, thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She picked up the bottle and looked it over. “Wonder where Dutch got this? It’s great! Can’t be Hurk’s.”

“Who?”

“A friend of ours in the Resistance. Quintessential redneck. He was a lot of fun.”

“Oh, right. The man child with the rocket launcher.”

Joseph motioned for another drink and Mary chuckled. She got their glasses full once again.

“That’s him.” Mary frowned. “May he rest in peace also.”

Joseph put his glass up. Mary smiled gratefully and clinked hers to his for Hurk, to all of her friends no longer here. They gulped their fourth round at the same time.

Mary felt the lightness slowly spreading to her limbs, tingling. The room swayed and she slowly blinked, grabbing the edges of the table to steady herself. Joseph hissed, and he looked as though he was having the same problem with perception.

“We should…have a wager,” she mumbled, grinning slowly. “Who can drink the most.”

“Gambling?” Joseph groaned. “Devil woman.”

“Now hold on…just a simple competition. You can decide your terms if you win and I can decide mine.”

Joseph rubbed his face, looking just as tipsy as her. “I have something to say to this...but I cannot remember it.”

Mary laughed. “Good. Just think of something you’d want if you win.”

“Why should I make a bet with a sinner who’s indulged in such wayward activities often and is used to the consequences?”

“Uh, excuse me, I don’t party alllll the time. And…I’m just as drunk as you right now…AND I weigh less. Come on, humor me!”

Joseph rolled his eyes, although she wasn’t sure if it was at her or he was trying to set them straight from the spinning room. “Fine. I win, you must confess and atone.”

“Shocker,” Mary said dully. “And if I win…hmmm.” She looked him over slyly and smirked. “You gotta cut that man bun off…”

He glared at her. “What kind of fulfilment could you possibly get from that?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, sounds fun.”

Joseph pushed his shot glass to her. “So much for celebrating your friend’s life.”

“Oh, we’re celebrating it, don’t worry. He would be having a heyday right now.”

“Let’s…just get this over with.”

Mary had to fight to keep her hand steady as she poured the shots. “Okay…Dep-yoo-tee has four and Papa has four. Let’s do this!”

They hesitated, glaring at each other and then took the fifth shot. They both reeled for a moment, hacking, groaning, eyes watering from the burn. Mary fought her eyes to straighten up when she poured the next round.

“You’re sssspilling it.” 

“I know!” Mary cried.

She passed him back his shot. They hovered longer this time before downing it. Joseph gripped his temples, grumbling.

“God, I hate you.”

“Not asss much asss I hate mysssself,” Mary groaned as she poured the next round.

The seventh shots mocked them. The clear liquid looked so innocent in the little glass cups. Mary worked herself up, remembering Addie taking ten shots of moonshine like it was nothing. Out of all her friends in the Resistance, Adelaide could outdrink them all. And John Seed? Well, he could give her a run for her money and could drink circles around his brothers like they were children. Adelaide and John were probably laughing at how weak Mary and Joseph were with their drinking game right now.

“Oh Addie, give meh strengthhhh.”

They chugged the shots.

“How…can you…do this fer fun?” Joseph mumbled, struggling to put a whole phrase together.

“I dunno…”

The eighth shot happened a while later. Mary spilled moonshine on the table and tried to lick it up but hit her head on the table and started laughing uncontrollably, even throwing an unladylike little snort in. Joseph laughed at her, swaying in his chair.

“What’s…the count ‘gain?” she slurred.

“Eight.”

“Oh gawd.”

“You…thisss all you.”

Mary half-cried as she poured the ninth shots, the room spinning, and she was so hot. God, she really wanted to take her shirt off...and if it wasn’t for stupid Joseph keeping her company, she would have. She clumsily slid Joseph his but almost collapsed on the table.

“That’s…yer shlot gless.”

“Wha? Who clares? I don’ have coooooties.”

“You hev somethin’.”

“Oh har har, Daddy.”

“Lord, forgivvvve meeeee.”

Joseph gulped his ninth shot. Mary groaned, stomping her feet and picked her shot up. She took it like a champ. Not really. She cried and laughed and almost fell out of her chair.

She couldn’t pour the next shots without spilling the moonshine all over and giggling. Joseph took it from her and poured the tenth shots. His hands weren’t as wobbly but he still spilled some on the table and on his chest.

“You got really realllllly pretty eyes. You know dat?”

Joseph looked like he wanted to puke as he picked up the tenth shot, and he shook his head at her. “Don’t…be weird…er.”

“Don’t drank it, jus’ don’.”

The Father took the tenth shot. As Mary looked her glass over, pep talking herself and trying not to cry, she heard Joseph cough. She looked at him, all three of him, as he winced and pushed his glass away.

“Can’t…no more.”

She had to take two more shots to win. Mary gulped her tenth shot. Joseph watched her pour the eleventh shot, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the slack in his usually tense, muscular body nearly limp on the chair.

“Imma win.”

“Er die offfff alcohol poisonin’.”

“It’ll be werf it to see yooooo cut yerrrr haiiiir.”

“What?”

Mary took a deep breath. Geez, she was burning up! She gulped the last shot, and slammed her glass on the table. Her arms shot in the air in victory.

“Yes!”

Her chair tipped over backwards and she crashed to the ground. She giggled helplessly for a minute as the bunker spun and spun like a merry-go-round. She had only a moment before a tall, blurry figure leaned over her and she fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some much needed character development for the two of them in the form of drinking. Yes, the once in a lifetime experience of drunk Joseph Seed, ladies and gentlemen. ^.^ Thanks to my beta Ravenprincess for all the help and ideas! Hope everyone is enjoying it so far. Good stuff to come! <3


	6. Hangover

### Chapter 6: Hangover

Mary chewed on her pencil, staring at the problem on the paper. Her internal calculator computed and worked, and she jotted down the answer in not so girly handwriting. She was good at math. Good at literature and P.E. She was okay in science and social studies. Her favorite was biology. Maybe one day she would have a career working with animals or the environment. Then again, she felt she wanted to do what her father did.

Her eyes went to the picture on her desk, her handsome father and his charming smile as he wore all blue and the American flag backdropped behind him.

Sarah was a whiz kid. Mary often wondered if her little sister even realized how smart she really was. She aced most of her subjects, not near as rebellious as Mary was. But she wasn’t street smart. She wasn’t gullible, but she was too trusting at times, tried to see the good in everything.

Even though their mother was mostly out of the picture as far as care went, which left Mary doing most of the parenting for Sarah, Mary found she didn’t have to tutor her at all. And there were times her little sister was tutoring  _ her _ .

Mary would just have to focus on teaching Sarah about life outside books and studies, how to take care of herself, because there would come a day when Mary couldn’t be there for her sister.

Quick footsteps pounded through the hollow hallway of the trailer house. The door to the sisters’ bedroom flung open, making Mary spin in her chair, pencil still in hand.

Sarah huffed in the threshold, tears in her eyes. “Emmy! It’s mom! She-She won’t wake up!”

Mary dropped her pencil and jumped out of her chair, pushing by her little sister and racing for the living room. Her mother laid on the couch, wearing a dirty tank top and shorts. Mary kicked through the mess on the floor, the room filled with the smell of booze and drugs. Their mother, thin and ragged from so many years of substance abuse, was limp.

She felt for a heartbeat, and found the organ banging around in her mother’s chest at a rapid, uneven pace. Mary put her ear close to her mother’s mouth. She was barely breathing.

Mary shook her. “Mom! Mom! Wake up!”

No response. Sarah stood to the side, holding herself, crying. Mary looked up at her as she started to pull on their mother’s arm.

“Sarah, help me! We gotta get her in the shower!”

“O-Okay!”

The girls worked together and dragged their mother into the bathroom. Though she was small and frail, her limp body felt like a sack of bricks. The hardest part was getting her into the tub, but once their unconscious mother was in, Mary turned on the shower.

The cold water rained down with a hiss after turning the valve. Their mother immediately stirred, panicking, eyes opening. Mary got soaked standing in the shower with her, shaking her, shouting at her. Her mother cried, limbs flailing in the wet tub. Sarah turned the shower off and mother and daughters sat in silence, only the mother’s heavy breathing filling the small bathroom.

She had the shakes, her pupils were dilated. Mary stared at her, dripping wet. She hated this woman, what she became, but the water drops streaming down her head and hair from the shower concealed her tears. Why couldn’t she have stayed how she was before Dad died?

Mary saw the necklace her mother wore slip out from her tank top, and anger boiled within. The silver, police badge-shaped Saint Michael pendant had her father’s name, officer number, and police department engraved into it.

Mary grabbed the necklace and yanked it from her mother’s bruised neck. The small chain popped easily. Mary pushed the pendant into her chest, cherishing it. Her mother didn’t deserve this necklace. 

Then her mother coughed and out came a wheezing whisper.

“You…such good girls…Mommy loves you both.”

Tears streamed down their mother’s face. Their mother missed their father just as much as Mary and Sarah did. But Mary thought she showed it in a shitty way with how she lived her life. In denial, in regret, in complete and utter hopelessness and lack of control.

As Mary and Sarah got up and left the bathroom, their mother bawled alone in the tub.

 

* * *

Her head pounded, thumping as though a giant was hopscotching in her brain. Groaning, Mary buried her head into her pillow, felt the tightening pull of her handcuffs as her arms bunched under her breasts, the metal digging into her ribs. What kind of party was that last night? She needed to ask Sharky, Hurk, and Mary May what the hell exactly she had consumed.

She could ignore the parchedness of her throat, but she couldn’t ignore the sloshing in her bladder. Cursing inwardly, Mary tentatively opened her eyes and moved to get out of bed, wincing like she had been hit by a bus. It sure felt like she had.

That’s when it all came crashing back. That was no party with the Resistance or her friends. She had a drinking contest with the Father celebrating Dutch’s birthday. She had thought  _ that  _ was the dream!

The Deputy remembered drinking in the comm-room. She was pretty sure she lost consciousness at the table, and didn’t remember going to bed. Mary thought about how she ended up here, and knew it had to be Joseph that put her to bed. And she wasn’t sure how to feel about that as she looked her body over.

Mary trudged through the concrete hallways, moaning and lowering her head slightly so she could cup her hands over her eyes to block out the lights.

She entered the den, the string lights above softly illuminating the room and helping alleviate the glare of the fish tank. As she passed by the kitchen to go into the next room that held the bathroom, smelling something warm and flavorsome that didn’t churn her stomach, she collided into a solid wall of muscle, tattoos, and scars.

Mary groaned as she stepped back from Joseph. “Ugh, don’t talk to me.”

Joseph looked just like she felt. Like he had been dragged by a truck for a few miles and then thrown off a cliff. His hair was down and his glare was sharper than it had been in days as he slipped by her.

“I hope you’re happy. We are feeling the consequences of our actions in overindulgence.”

Mary rolled her eyes and headed for the bathroom, calling over her shoulder. “Relax  _ Dad _ , hangovers don’t last forever.”

Even her own voice shattered her eardrums and she winced. She went to the bathroom and washed her face. Mary felt like she was experiencing the worst jet lag in existence as her body struggled to do simple actions. She was groggy, hurting, and her stomach flipped and rolled around like it had been hit by the truck she was dragged by and was dying.

When Mary came back out into the den, Joseph was sitting at the table rubbing his temples, grimacing. She sat down in front of him and his eyes opened, narrowing. She smelled the delicious aroma again, wafting from his mug before him. It was tea, but it wasn’t the chamomile from the night before. It was ginger tea.

“You gonna share some of that?”

Joseph sighed, sliding the mug across to her. And Mary smiled, thinking about their conversation the other day. Joseph stood and got himself a new cup and sat back down.

They sat in miserable silence as they sipped hot tea. She wondered where Joseph found all this tea, as Dutch didn’t seem like the type. 

The ginger tea helped soothe Mary’s head and squirming stomach. She tried not to think very much, but couldn’t help but notice how quiet Joseph was and inwardly joked that she should get him hungover more often so he wouldn’t preach as much.

“What’s so funny?”

Mary perked up. “Huh?”

“You’re smiling about something and I really don’t see anything humorous in this.”

His voice rattled her brain, and Mary just wanted to go back to bed and sleep this off. She waved the Father off. “Oh, course there is. We had fun last night.”

Joseph closed his eyes as she talked, as though her voice was an irritant that rubbed him the wrong way. Then again, she felt the same way. Why were they talking? It hurt to do so.

“Just…drink your tea and try and rest. It’ll go away eventually. There’s lots of ways to help a hangover but we’re pretty limited down here. We could always drink some more. That’ll make it go away.”

His glare made her chuckle, despite the twinge it caused. “I’m joking. Geez.”

Joseph rolled his neck, popping it and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hair of the dog is how my father would get over his. But years into the addiction, the drink no longer affected him like that. But that was probably because he was drunk as long as he was conscious.”

Mary frowned. She thought back to her mother. “My…mother was like that…with drugs and drinking.”

“My mother was crushed by her marriage to my father. She did the same just to tolerate the beast that reigned in our home.”

Mary rubbed along the warm surface of her mug. “My mother wasn’t always like that. She used to be normal and happy. She was a great mother at one time. But after my father died, grief consumed her and she turned to drugs and drinking to cope. Never was the same after that.”

Joseph looked faraway now as he stared blankly at his hands on the table. “I don’t know if my mother ever recovered. After my father was taken to prison and we went to foster homes, I never saw her again. We heard about our father dying in prison but after I grew out of the system and started living my adult life…I never thought about her until I started looking for my brothers. But my visions…the Voice…it never gave me time to find her. I thought about her a lot years after the Project had grown and we moved to Montana. And I wondered…what if she was still alive? Why didn’t I look for her, try and save her? Why did I even care after she had done  _ nothing  _ to help us?”

Mary thought back to what she had read in the Word of Joseph. The words she chose came from her own inner regrets. “Because she was still your mother, despite it all.”

Joseph weakly, ironically, smiled, pained, but she wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or something else deep within him. “Despite it all, it doesn’t matter. She either died years ago or she burned with the old world, and there was no hope for her anyway.”

Mary flinched. “I’m sorry.”

Joseph’s eyes rose to meet hers. He looked a little surprised in the sincerity in her tone. And as he looked her over, she felt that power he seemed to wield so proficiently, pulling secrets and insecurities and feelings from her with his all-knowing eyes.

Part of her thought he had twisted this whole conversation to siphon information out of her because he had done it before, so many times. It was how he manipulated and controlled people. But part of her also felt he just wanted someone to talk to, just like she did deep down.

Mary expected him to ask her what happened to her parents. But he didn’t. And she felt it was because he pulled it from her as she sat vulnerable thinking of her own parents while he spoke of his. Maybe exactly how he had planned, she couldn’t be sure.

The Seed brothers were all deceptive in their own ways. Jacob was calculating while John was devious. Joseph was a mix of both and that made him the hardest to read. Mary got to where she could read John, despite his wild and unpredictable behavior. Jacob was instinctive like an animal, disciplined like a soldier. Joseph was none of these, but a different breed altogether: he knew intuitively when to use manipulation and when to employ sincerity to reach his goals, always weighing his options for the best approach. That made his tactics so difficult to counter and him so difficult to predict.

Suddenly uncomfortable, as though Joseph’s sapphire eyes continued to wrench out her secrets, Mary changed the subject.

“Did you put me in my bed?”

“Yes. I presumed you didn’t want to sleep on the concrete floor. Fortunately, you’re lighter than you look. I wasn’t in my best state.”

She glared at him. What a time to attempt a joke. “Well, thanks…I guess.”

Joseph barely twitched a smile, but soon it melted into a grimace and he rubbed his aching temple. She watched as he sighed and pulled his hair up into his trademark bun. That’s when it clicked.

“Hey!” she yelled, her voice screeching like nails on a chalkboard through her and Joseph’s hangovers. “You lost the bet last night! You gotta chop that thing!”

The Father gawked at her, one hand still up around his freshly made man bun. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. We had a bet. And you lost. I had more shots than you.”

“Of all the ridiculous larks to remember,” Joseph growled. “It’s not happening.”

“Hey, you made the deal. And you’re supposedly a man of your word, aren’t you? Right in front of God too!”

“A man’s word means nothing while inebriated. And neither do deals.”

They glared at each other, neither budging.

The Deputy rolled her eyes. “It’ll grow back! You want me to atone? You gotta show me you’re willing to give a little.”

“You aren’t going to drop this until I do it, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Stubborn woman.”

Joseph leaned back, jaw ticking as he thought. Mary was sure he was trying to come up with a way out of it. He was just as stubborn as her when it came to certain things. But Mary wasn’t going to let the Father manipulate or talk his way out of this one.

His eyes landed on her chest, and some kind of flare roused from them. Mary looked down, but only saw her old t-shirt. Her arms laid on the table in front of her and she suddenly noticed how irritated one wrist looked from her cuffs. It was time to clean and dress them once more.

“How about a trade?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

Joseph stood and walked over to her. His towering, muscular form made her shrink slightly in her chair, but a stalwart glare met his softened gaze. “No trades! You aren’t getting out of this, I-”

Joseph pressed down on her wrists, hard. Mary hissed in pain. When she tried to yank her fists away to fight him, he squeezed harder. Mary bowed, eyes closing, spewing curses. And seconds later, the Father retracted his grip, the burn dying down on her wrists.

Mary pulled back in her chair, bringing her arms to her chest. “You asshole!”

But her wrists felt lighter. She didn’t feel the pinching, the tugging, the scraping. She looked down. The handcuffs were gone. Green eyes going wide, she gaped at Joseph. He held the metal manacles in one hand, the small key in the other. She couldn’t believe it. And she could tell by Joseph’s small smile that he knew she was stunned. But soon his smile faltered.

“You want me to give a little?” he asked. “I’ve been the only one  _ giving  _ here. And here I stand, giving you the utmost freedom I can give you. Because we both know our situation. We cannot survive down here without one another. But you must start giving  _ back  _ to me, Mary. Or all of this will be for naught.”

Mary rubbed the tender flesh of her wrists, lowering her eyes. She hated the man in front of her, just as much as she feared and respected him. He knew exactly how to influence her.

Her head pounded, now more than before. She felt sick, and wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or something else boiling in the pit of her stomach. She slowly nodded, getting to her feet.

“I accept this trade. I’m gonna…go back to bed. Sleep this hangover off.”

When Mary turned and started for the exit of the den, Joseph pulled into her line of vision and blocked her from leaving. He put one palm up, gesturing for her to wait before he gently grasped one of her arms. His fingers stroked down her forearm before curving around the area above the irritation and swelling. Curiously, her skin tingled underneath his touch and danced up her spine.

Joseph looked her wrists over now that the cuffs were off. He hid it well, but Mary sensed he was upset, maybe a little remorseful. They stood only inches apart, Mary’s eyes level with his chest as he radiated heat. No wonder the man rarely wore a shirt. He was like a damn furnace.

“Let’s take care of these first,” he whispered.

 

* * *

Joseph filtered through the cabinets in the infirmary, grabbing up gauze, wrap, and alcohol. The Deputy was quiet mostly, watching as he gently cleaned her injured wrists and smeared ointment over them. He was surprised she didn’t fight that she could do it herself, now that she was free to do so. But she didn’t; instead, she seemed stunned into confused silence.

Mary’s skin was soft, silky, despite her rough and tumble lifestyle. Joseph fought the strange urge to feel more of her, and wrapped her wrists with deft hands. When he was through, he reluctantly let her go and stepped back.

“We’ll need to change them again later.”

“Okay...thanks.”

She ran her fingers over the fresh bandages, enjoying the freedom her hands now had, a small smile forming on her face.

“You may change and shower as you need to without my consent or my watch now, but your meals still require you to sit and talk with me. The armory will remain locked to you. Understand?”

“Yes,” she answered, finally looking up at him.

She looked just as tired and ragged as he felt after their drinking escapade last night. But the way her wavy light brown hair tousled around her beautiful face almost made him forget what she had done. Almost.

He gestured she could leave. She hesitated, as though she wanted to say something, but nothing came from her pink lips. She turned and left the infirmary, beelining straight for her room to sleep off the horrible hangover that plagued them both.

Joseph watched her curved, slender form retreat, and suddenly felt confined. Grinding his teeth, he put away all the medical items and left. He returned to the den and laid down on the couch. The migraine that splintered his skull pounded like a jack-hammer and he wondered if he should take some painkillers.

The past several days he had seen so many visions, and many of them unclear. But he saw more that were enlightening, empowering, promising. Joseph may have used Mary’s freedom from the cuffs as a ploy to get out of her shenanigans, but he also had a reason behind it.

Mary Samson, the Deputy, the Lamb and Sealbreaker, was to become the Judge. His Judge. Completely and wholly loyal to him and his cause. He saw it. Clear as day in many visions the Voice gave to him, heard the words spoken to him from the Great Divine as his sign of what was to come. She would be his own personal vessel of judgement, punishment, and protection. New Eden’s sword and shield, always at his side.

Freeing her from the handcuffs was merely the beginning to that transformation, she just didn’t know it yet.

Neither of them were fools. They knew they couldn’t survive down here alone, and needed each other. Joseph no longer had to worry about her trying to kill him and she didn’t have to fear the same from him.

But there were other visions and whisperings the Voice brought to him that were blurry and garbled. Vague and confusing. Trying to wrap his mind around the glimpses, the fuzzy foresights, Joseph wasn’t sure what else there could be, but knew that only time would tell before God gave him all of the pieces.

Until then, he would have to endure the pounding in his head. And right now, God was surely punishing him for his transgressions last night.

Joseph turned the light off. He laid there for a considerable amount of time, trying to rest, near tears from the pain. Incoherent whispers crackled like white noise on a television. Glimpses of a colorful, reborn world, of a civilization he fathered and raised painting in his mind. The prophet saw the black, hooded figure of his Judge at his back, devoted and incorruptible, raven feathers in her hair, black fur on her shoulders, and a white mask hanging behind her head. The imageries burned in the back of his mind like a branding iron and he groaned in pain.

Joseph rubbed his throbbing head, heading for the infirmary when something else came to mind instead. He hovered at the threshold to the communications room, thinking, but when he felt another set of teeth clamp down on his skull, he decided. The Father went into the room full of computers and dead video feeds, where the smell of moonshine still lingered and made him sick to his stomach.

Joseph turned the dials on the safe, listening carefully, and opened the metal door. The heavy door swung open with a low squeal from the hinges. He had broken the code weeks ago after reading through several of Dutch’s personal notes and entries. None of the old writings told the code outright, but Joseph knew how people worked and broke it with ease. The code was Dutch’s granddaughter’s birthday. He had cleared the safe of the old belongings in there and replaced it with his own things. There was his handgun, his Word of Joseph, his notebook of all his visions, prophecies, and revelations from the Voice, and the pictures of his brothers and sister.

The stranded prophet eyed the bag of “oregano”, debating, weighing whether he should indulge in another sin and alleviate his pain, or endure through it as always. Then a soft little voice sprouted through the mess in his head, slicing through the Voice’s hummings: Mary, telling him he needed to unwind more - just like his wife had, all those years ago. He snorted at the irony of it, faintly amused and tongue-in-cheek. He made up his mind and retrieved the bag. Just as he had found Mr. Roosevelt’s secrets and musings, Joseph had also found his drug paraphernalia after Mary had found the drugs. The Father nimbly rolled a joint in silence and lit it with a lighter sitting on a nearby table. It had been a long time, but Joseph used to smoke a lot in his youth and young adulthood. It was the only thing at one time that helped his migraines and anxiety.

The first hit filled his lungs with warmth, and it swooped over him. He relaxed, exhaling, the effects immediate. He found a chair and sat. He rubbed between his eyes, and after a few more hits, slowly felt the migraine evaporate. Joseph kept his eyes closed, trying to keep his mind from wandering. He kicked up his legs on the table that had the record player, inhaling another hit.

He pushed out thick smoke rings, a smile curling on his lips as he watched them ripple through the air and disperse. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed, this peaceful, despite knowing it wouldn’t last. He would have to keep the marijuana in the safe and only smoke it when his headaches became too much.

But even now, pain free and drowsy, he still heard the whisperings in his ear. Joseph swatted the air, as though a fly hummed nearby like a pest.

He groaned. “I sacrificed…myself and my family and so many others for you. I’ve seen the future and what you desire of me…What more do you want? What more is there?”

The pain cracked through his forehead. Joseph winced, banging his head into the back of the chair defiantly. He took another long drag, sucking it in and snuffing the voices out. He slowly got up and made his way to his room, grimacing.

“It’s never enough. Not for you.”

 

* * *

Joseph whispered prayers, palms together and up against his forehead, tears streaming down his face. The church was so silent, stagnant. Jacob’s body laid on a table near the altar, just as silent, just as stagnant. Blood smeared his face, neck, and arms, soiled his clothes. Their oldest brother had done what he had always done: protected them. And he died for them. For their cause. A martyr for Joseph and his God.

Joseph slowly stood, wiping his eyes, his glasses resting on his Word on the lectern nearby. He looked his dead brother over, the scars, the blood, the burns. There was one hole in his chest, the killing shot that went straight through Jacob’s lung and filled it with blood. His lucky rabbit’s foot and dog whistle necklaces were still around his neck, but his dog tags were missing, as was his bunker key.

They knew the Deputy had taken the bunker key, and had already destroyed Jacob’s armory and set the sinners free of their captivity. The dog tags had remained, Joseph saw them, but he didn’t have to wonder what had happened to them. He heard the soft, metallic jingle coming from his younger brother beside him.

When Joseph looked at his baby brother, what he saw was something similar to when he had first found him in Atlanta years ago. Rage, hate, brokenness. Tears lined his deep blue eyes, staring down at the metal tags in his palms, and he slowly squeezed his fingers shut around them, fist trembling.

A beast looked up Joseph instead of his little brother, and it was clawing and ripping its way out to the surface faster than Joseph could manage. His sins weeded out and contorted, grew in size. Joseph sensed a strange emotion from the Baptist. Betrayal. As though John had trusted the Deputy to do something else instead of killing their brother.

“John,” the Father whispered.

“Was this how it was always going to end?” John snapped, squeezing the dog tags in his palm, glaring. Stubborn, defiant, unruly as always.

Joseph looked up to the ceiling, sucking in an unsteady breath, as if hoping God would help him pacify the growing demon in front of him.

He had protected John for far too long, as had Jacob. “Yes,” he whispered.

John bared teeth at him, hatred growing, but it hid the inner turmoil that broke his little brother’s already ravaged soul. “I did all that you have asked! Jake did too! Are we nothing but pawns to you?!”

“John, please, get a hold of yourself. Of course not. This is just God’s will. We must-”

“God’s will, God’s will,” John mocked venomously and kicked over a table of gifts and offerings for their fallen brother. The crash ripped through the church, but Joseph didn’t flinch. “That’s all I’ve fucking heard for years! Our brother is DEAD!  _ You  _ allowed it to happen!”

Joseph did the one thing that came to mind as John exploded. He grabbed John and pulled him into a tight hug, hushing him, stroking the back of his head. His little brother fought him, punched him in the ribs, tried to push him away, but soon the mad beast tamed. Soon the Baptist cried into the Father’s shoulder.

“I’m here, I’m here. We’ll get through this,” Joseph soothed.

John slowly withdrew, tears drying on his handsome face and he looked at Joseph as though  _ he _ was the Devil. “Not without Jacob, we won’t.”

John walked over to Jacob’s body, leaned down and kissed his dead brother’s forehead. Still clinging onto the dog tags, the Baptist walked for the front doors of the church, bootsteps softly bouncing off the walls of the church. His passing by form made all the candlelight flames bend and cower. 

“John, where are you going?”

“Her sin is Wrath...that’s the one thing we always had in common from the beginning,” John called, an ironic chuckle echoing from his lips and lingering in the stale air. “Guess that’s why I always respected the little firecracker. But she and all of Fall’s End will pay for what they’ve done. I must finish this. After all, the King cannot win until all of his Pawns are toppled over. And there’s still one  _ Rook  _ left…”

Joseph watched his last brother leave, heartbroken. There was nothing he could say that would stop him. The rabid, mad dog off his chain, no longer contained. It was the last time he saw John alive.

Flashes went through his head, and he saw John gurgling up blood in the mud, weakly laughing, seeing some sort of twisted humour in his own tragedy. Rebellious and impudent, even while dying. He missed what was said between him and Mary as she stepped away from his coughing, bloody form, but the Deputy was definitely crying.

After John’s final, red-spewing cough, his body stilled. The pain that had consumed him his whole life finally was no more.

And God said to Joseph,  _ “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.” _

And Joseph said to the Voice. “I’ve done only what you’ve wished of me. You did this.”

The Father awoke, suffocated by anger and sorrow. He got out of bed, rubbing his face, trembling from his dream about John. Was God testing him? Joseph glared up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

He stalked into the den to get water and clear his head, only to find a familiar sight. Mary was asleep on the couch again, bathed in the eerie blue light of the aquarium, looking otherworldly and serene. The same book from last time was resting against her flat belly, but why were her handcuffs back on her? Hadn’t he taken them off of her earlier? 

He didn’t dwell on it much as the same anger he had felt over Jacob’s death bubbled to the surface of his consciousness because of John’s death. The Deputy killed John just as she had killed Jacob and Faith. Ruthlessly. Efficiently. Self-righteously. And God allowed her to do it. Why did His will have to have them die when they had devoted themselves to Him and Eden’s Gate? The injustice of it was just so... _ infuriating _ . He felt like his gut was on fire over the feeling of sheer indignation.

Joseph realized that he had gone too easy on her. Maybe he should have killed her after all, or at the very least lock her up on that bedpost for the rest of the years they were trapped down here. He had been very gracious so far, but  _ maybe...maybe _ Mary wasn’t deserving of understanding and civility and required a harsher treatment instead.  _ A stricter hand _ ...yeah, that was indeed what she needed.

The Father stepped closer to the couch and leaned over the sleeping figure to wrap his slender fingers around her throat, reveling in the feeling of power over an ignorant, sleeping Mary. His eager fingers slowly tightened around her velvety neck.

Mary’s eyes shot open, startled from her slumber. Her bound hands flew up to grasp his, and when they didn’t budge, tried to push them against his chest to shove him away. Joseph climbed on top of her, pinning her underneath him on the old sofa. Her pelvis dug into his groin, their clothes chafing as he pushed all of his body weight into her, ignoring her continued writhing and pained gasps. 

His mouth went dry and he licked his lips, leaning closer, squeezing harder, hands gliding up the soft, slender column of her throat. Her eyes captured his in a panic, mesmerizing in their deep emerald green and vulnerable expression. Heat suddenly flushed through his body, burning every nerve ending. Soon his fingers slackened, probably from the heightening of his heartbeat and the familiar pull in his pants. He looked over her longing eyes and something finally snapped in him when he pressed his lips into hers.

Sucking, noisy, hard kisses, and then he broke through her lips with his tongue. She eagerly took him without complaint, groaning. Instead of struggling beneath him now, she fidgeted and mewled.  _ Why isn’t she fighting back? _ The question shortly crossed his mind before jumping to an obvious  conclusion. Was it because she was being restrained and left without any other options? The jingling cuffs got in the way, and Joseph pulled them above her head, holding them hostage.

Her body was scorching hot, seemingly singeing him wherever bare skin touched bare skin, flushed against his, her heavy breaths tickling his ear as he sucked on her neck. Her unexpected lack of protest at his boldness encouraged him to push his hand up her shirt to feel the soft skin of her waist and her perky breasts.  _ No bra? _ he wondered absent-mindedly, not that he was complaining. His heartbeat pulsated in his ears loudly, in line with hers, but he felt it ten times stronger in his hard cock, begging for release from his jeans.

His name coming off her lips like a prayer made him shiver, and he worked at tearing her clothes off, her cuffs being an annoying hindrance he now wished he hadn’t put on her in the first place. He normally wasn’t one to rush such intimate encounters, but something about this felt equal parts right and urgent, like she would evaporate into thin air if he stopped now.

All he could think about as he tugged her cuffs tighter above her head, nipping her collarbone and fumbling for her pants, was getting inside her as quickly as humanly possible. Thrusting in and out of her. Filling her. Marking her. Claiming what was rightfully his. 

He would surely combust if he didn’t satiate that need that seemed to be all he could focus on right now.

Later he wouldn’t remember how he managed to wrestle her out of her pants and underwear with just one free hand (the other was still very much busy exploring the braless wonder hidden underneath her shirt, bless h̶i̶s̶ ̶g̶r̶e̶e̶d̶ her laziness), but he didn’t care too much about such trivial details when there was a willing deputy waiting to be ravaged - he was admittedly way past minding anything but what his lust demanded at this point.  

Just as he freed his cock and started pushing into her, delirious from her cries of excitement, his throaty moans, the sensations overwhelming him of finally having her, he was rudely jerked from his pleasure and awoke in his bed, panting for air - alone.

Joseph nearly fell off the bottom bunk of the bunkbed he slept on, groaning, disoriented, head hammering like it was about to burst. He cursed extensively, something he rarely spewed. His crotch throbbed painfully, rivaling the pounding in his head. He took a moment to get his breathing under control. His heart rate finally dwindling, the blood flow through his sweaty body slowing.

To say that he was shocked about the explicit nature of his dream was an understatement. What had gotten into him? They were mostly civil around each other these days, but not anywhere this “friendly”. What was he thinking?

He could not place together the meaning of the dream. God had made it clear that he wanted Mary as Joseph’s Judge, his loyal follower, surrogate family and guardian. Any further desires he had towards her were forbidden…out of reach. Weren’t they?

With a husky, tormented groan, the Father slowly got up. There had to be something wrong with the w̶e̶e̶d̶ oregano he smoked. Yes, that had to be it. For the moment though, as he silently cursed himself and the still very tangible effects the dream had on him, Joseph decided he needed a cold shower  _ asap _ . 

Never had he hurried faster to the bathroom than he did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thought I'd give a little tease for you guys ;D 
> 
> Also, I went back and tweaked Mary's relationship with John. So many things going on in this story, I think it was best to just make it to where they had a strange connection, some feelings, but they were never realized or explored, despite playing games and such with each other. Most of these changes were done in CH.4. Sorry for the inconvenience. ^-^'
> 
> Tidbit: When The Voice said to Joseph about hearing Joseph's brother's blood scream to him through the ground, it's actually what God said to Cain after he killed Abel. >;3
> 
> So, after a hangover and a vivid wet dream on Joseph's end, our trapped bunker mates are sure to get into a mess for things to come. Heheheheehe. Thanks everyone who has read/subscribed/bookmarked/kudos/commented on this story so far. It means a bunch and keeps me motivated to continue! As always, thank you to my beta reader and good friend Ravenprincess!
> 
> Have a great week! <3


	7. Ignorance  is Bliss

### Chapter 7: Ignorance is Bliss

The cold shower had not helped ease his inner turmoil and barely dulled the throbbing ache of other…complications that had stubbornly manifested. Joseph now sat on his bed, head between his knees, hands gripping his hair as he breathed deeply. His stomach churned; his head spun. He kept telling himself that God was only testing him. He was a man. Men had desires. But  _ he _ had to remain true to his path.

_ It’ll pass… _

He had tossed the marijuana, holding the tiny plastic baggy at arm’s length as if it would suddenly leap and shove itself down his throat. It was best to get rid of it, just in case. Could never trust these sinful hicks in their own backyard. Probably laced it with something. Or fertilized the plants with unspeakable things that he’d rather not know about in his lifetime. So off it went into the trash can.  _ Good riddance. _

The Father fidgeted, flushing. He knew he would get sick. The stress and panic that dream had caused him was tearing at him from the inside. And worse yet, his mind kept wanting to wander back to it…cursed brain.

Feeling the acid climb up his throat, Joseph rose carefully and left his room as fast as his nausea would allow. He tried to be as discreet as possible, hoping Mary was still asleep. But fate had other plans as he rounded the corner into the den, nearly barreling into her. She was rubbing the sleep from one eye, yawning, but perked up upon nearly colliding her nose to his toned chest.

“Ack! Geez, wear a bell or something,” she mumbled. “Good morning by the-”

He didn’t let her finish, brushing by her, his skin on fire from touching her and went straight into the bathroom, leaving behind a very confused looking Mary. He barely made it to the toilet before retching out his inner stress, mixed with the leftovers of his last meal.

A soft knock on the door. “You dying in there, Hipster Jesus? Say something!”

His lingering lust for her nearly spiked to something more sinister, spitting into the toilet bowl. It’s a wonder why he even dreamed of her like that for her incessant sarcasm purposed to vex him.

When Joseph was sure there was no more to get out of his system, he flushed the toilet and washed his face. The preacher exited the bathroom, opening the door to find the Deputy loitering just outside. He barely caught her chewing her lip, nervous, arms crossed, before she put on a completely different face, standing taller, slightly smiling before giving him her best deadpan look.

“Tell me the truth,” Mary said in a mock-serious tone. “Are you pregnant?”

What she didn’t know was that Joseph could read her like a book. Mary had a habit of concealing her true emotions, hiding behind sarcasm and insolence.

Worried for him or not, Joseph already felt her affecting him, and glared at her hard before cursing the very insistent freewill of his nether regions and retreated quickly to his room. He needed a few days of praying and meditation, sprinkled with a heavy helping of fasting. Also, strict avoidance of a certain Deputy with too much time on her hands. Maybe that would get him over his sinful cravings. Show God he was still being obedient and true.

“Okay…nice talk,” Mary quipped at his back. “Guess I’ll go back to bed. Wake me if you need something!”

Joseph ground his teeth, rolling his shoulders. Yes.  _ Definitely _ a few days.

 

* * *

“Fehh, fehhh.” The soft air blown from her lips gusted a few strands of hair from her face. Wiggling, her butt wedged uncomfortably against the back of the sofa, she flipped a page in the old magazine she was reading.

Severe boredom had driven the Deputy to a unique position on the couch. Upside down, to be exact, head hanging near the floor, feet tapping the wall above the top of the furniture. Maybe a good rush of blood to the extremities of her head would give her some kind of high. Or just another migraine similar to the one she recently got over from the ‘Mother of All Hangovers’ a few days ago.

Mary was similar to Sharky in the aspect that boredom made her do stuff that got her into trouble. And Joseph’s patience was unusually thin the past couple of days. It gave her such joy at first, but now the boredom caused some sort of loneliness, and that made her ramble a lot. To herself. To the Father. She could be a mess like Sharky that way too.

At least she had the fish. They understood her. She named them all. Yep, all seventeen swimming and gawping in the aquarium. She had been the one taking care of them for the most part, even while still in handcuffs. So, yeah, she got a little attached to them.

“Yo, Nemo! Listen to this. I got Mexican food on this ‘Which Food Determines Your Sex Life’ quiz. Apparently, I’m full of energy, attractive, loyal, but can knock your ass down. My love life is spicy and full of flavor, and because of my sizzling, bold personality, it’s likely I will have a lifelong mate and lots of children.”

The Deputy snorted, tossing the magazine across the room. “Stupid. And to think I’ll never get to have tacos again.”

Nemo agreed. The little orange and black guppy smacked into the corner of the fish tank and then drifted to the bottom before swimming away.

Now what was she going to do?

Tapping her foot on the wall, thinking, head flushing from the pressure as all the blood seeped down into her skull, she looked around the den in its inverted state. Then a passing set of feet came into her sight, blocking her line of vision to the dust bunnies underneath the aquarium stand.

Heart spiking, she looked up (or down?) to see Joseph’s upside-down face.  _ Holy shit, he finally emerged! _

He took in how her body sat on the couch, closed his eyes with a shake of his head and said nothing, continuing on towards the bathroom.

Mary was disappointed, and didn’t know why. With an eager huff, she tried to roll upright to get up, but the bottom half of her body tumbled over her head and she crashed to the floor. Joseph stopped, turned, brows furrowing at her.

She climbed gracelessly to her feet. “Ow.”

“Well, maybe if you would sit like an adult you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”

Mary rubbed her head, dizzy from all the blood retracting so fast. She wasn’t sure why she felt hints of a blush creep over her. She wasn’t one to embarrass easily.

Joseph’s skin had a slight sheen, and she knew he finished his habitual workout and meditation. He had been doing it a lot more the past couple days for some odd reason. It had turned him into an elusive creature, and she had only seen him in brief intervals.

Mary didn’t come up with a clever comeback fast enough, and Joseph left her alone. She looked around, trying to think of something else to do. She was restless, brain under stimulated from the same boring walls. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to survive down here for seven years like this.

When Joseph reappeared, it was like a lightning bolt snapped in her brain.  _ Human being. Must talk to. Even though hate guts. _

She smiled at him, the kind that usually roused his suspicion. But Joseph avoided eye contact and slipped by her without a word. Mary gawked at his sweaty, muscular back as he left the den. Determined, she stomped after him and followed him into the family room where he had spent most of his time. His dedicated ‘him zone’, just like how she had claimed Dutch’s room as hers.

As he entered through the doorway, she came up on his heels and she could tell he knew she was following him. She opened her mouth to say something just as the door shut in her face.

Mary bit her tongue. A slew of profanities wouldn’t make him talk to her as likely. She inhaled and exhaled deeply and knocked on the door. After a moment, the door opened. Joseph glared at her warily, leaning in the door frame.

“Yes?”

The ‘Yes’ sounded more like ‘Please, for the love of God, leave me alone’. Mary chuckled and out came the first ramble induced by her boredom.

“What’s with all the working out anyway? We aren’t going anywhere, not like we’re gonna be fighting anyone. Except maybe each other.”

Joseph ground his jaw. “I’m sure you’re aware of the benefits of exercise. A sound mind cannot exist without a sound body, child.”

_ Sound mind, my ass. _ The stranded Deputy rolled her eyes internally at the irony of it. Thin patience Joseph oozed with sarcasm. Still, Mary wondered exactly what his problem was.

“Okay, about this “child” thing...could you please NOT? Because it’s seriously starting to creep me out. I’m a fully grown woman, in case you didn’t notice. Just saying.” 

“I can see that”, he replied, sounding exhausted and slightly impatient. Almost...pained? “I’m not exactly blind.”

“Woah, easy there. I just meant that you can stop calling me that anytime now, the sooner the better. Because it’s weird, and I DO have a name, and it’s not “Deputy” as you know. Use it, don’t abuse it. I mean seriously...I KNOW some people have a daddy kink, but you’re honestly taking it a bit too far if you ask me.”

“What?! What did you just…?” At this point his eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and something flashed in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. He seemed ready to either be sick or strangle her on the spot, whichever might happen first, clearly upset about her cheeky insinuation. The Deputy quickly raised her hands in an appeasing manner before he could blow a gasket.

“Just...call me Mary from now on. Nothing else. Okay? If it’s not too much to ask.”

Joseph took a deep, calming breath, before squeezing out a surrendering “Alright...Mary,” to make her drop any further attempt to discuss any “kinks”, imaginary or otherwise. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard!” she rejoiced.

She rewarded him with a pleased, quick smile that made his insides flutter in a manner that was most likely illegal here in Montana (and probably other states as well) - before she put her foot right in...again.

“Anyway...so...you’re sure working out a lot. Like, who’re you trying to impress down here? It’s just the two of us. Not seeing the point really...” She rubbed her neck thoughtfully, Joseph’s eyes following the movement of her hands involuntarily.

“I’ll be sure to let you know once I want to impress someone.”

Mary laughed. “Seriously though, I know there’s plenty of food, enough to feed a small army, but…ya know…” She shrugged. “Shouldn’t we be preserving energy instead of burning it uselessly?”

Just as she noticed color creeping onto his face, Joseph slammed the door in her face again.

She blinked a few times, confused. “Was it something I said?”

The one time she actually wanted to have a conversation with Joseph Seed and he was giving her the cold shoulder. Mary huffed on her way back towards the den, calling out loudly.

“Keep to yourself, if ya want! It’s fine, really. I was wanting to confess something…get it off my chest.”

Nothing. The door remained closed. Mary scratched her temple, flabbergasted. “About Sarah?”

_ What in the actual fuck? _ Mary gawked at the door, stunned. The sudden silence that filtered through the concrete hallways, the cool, stale air, prickled her skin. She never would’ve guessed The Father would disregard a chance hearing her confess.

Fine, she didn’t want to talk to the psychotic cult leader anyway. Mary flipped the door off bi-manually  _ (one of her special skills that never made it into her CV) _ and stomped off to the comm-room. She paced for a moment with her arms crossed, then went over to the record player and flicked the needle down. Oldies again. It was the same record from her awkward staring contest with Joseph weeks ago.

She blared the music. The boredom made her itch. Maybe she could get in touch with her inner artist? Draw something? Make something?  _ A pipe bomb to put us out of our misery. Otherwise, some home-made cooking of mine might do the trick.  _ God, she was so bored. Perhaps she could clean. The bunker needed cleaning. Or maybe catalogue their supplies, like...count the remaining toilet paper rolls...you never knew when knowing exactly how many you got left could save a life.

_ So much to do, so little time,  _ Mary thought sarcastically.  _ What did Joseph say the other day? We still have around 2,480 days left in this hellhole? Gawd. I wonder how much that is in toilet paper rolls... _

She would surely lose her mind before then. Become as delusional as her keeper. If she ever started parading around shirtless with her hair in a bun, she would throw herself into the incinerator on the floor below and light the match.

Oh, how she wanted to draw him out of his cubbyhole by getting on his nerves. Even one of his trademarked disappointed glares would be welcome at this point if only he stopped ignoring her and shutting her out. He was her only lifeline down here and he knew it. 

_ Damn him! _

She sighed.  _ Better to keep myself outta trouble ‘til his ‘time of the month’ blows over. _

Mary snorted and started giving this dusty, old bunker a woman’s touch.

 

* * *

The Father rubbed his forehead on the wall, eyes closed, weary, as he heard the Deputy trying to entice him out with a confession.

_ Nice try, Mary… _

A few minutes later, oldies tunes reverberated through the tunnels of their dungeon. Joseph’s eye twitched, and he moved away from the door. He stepped over to his self-made altar. It wasn’t much, but it held several candles, his book, and many of his inner monologues on paper.

His bunker companion acted out when she wanted attention, not much different from an insolent child. Although, Joseph found it peculiar she wanted  _ his _ attention. Then again, he was her only source of human interaction and she was getting desperate. Any other time, Joseph would wield this to his advantage. Her apparent growing cabin fever and loneliness was putting herself out in the open where he could manipulate her easily.

But he didn’t trust himself to manipulate her in a way that wouldn’t damn both of them. Not right now.

_ I’m not John…I’m not Jacob… _

Joseph sighed. His brothers were mad, diseased creatures. They would have long ripped Mary to shreds. He had empathy. Patience. Love and understanding. So many things that John coveted and Jacob tossed away. But Joseph himself was a mad, diseased creature. Just a different breed.

The music faintly played outside, filtering through the cracks in the door. The Deputy still trying to draw him out by trying his patience. Her fallback to nearly everything. What she didn’t know was that she risked drawing out a hungrier creature than the merciful one she had entered this place with.

Joseph took his place on his knees before the altar, tuning out all the noise. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Days of meditation and prayer had done little to ease him. Perhaps God was punishing him in a way. He focused, withdrawing into himself.

Mary’s voice crooned just down the corridor from his door. She sang along with a familiar song that rippled through the bunker.

“I shot the Sheriff…but I did not shoot the Deputy!”

Joseph opened his eyes, groaning, putting his pressed palms to his forehead and praying harder.

_ I’m about to shoot a certain deputy for sure, so help me God… _

And yet his body reacted in a different way to her singing, something Jacob would crudely label as a “mating call”.

As if on cue, he remembered her grilling him about his newfound interest in working out, while she stroked her pale, soft neck, lost in thought as she tried to figure him out. He sighed deeply, annoyed with her cluelessness and himself for becoming the victim of it.

_ Blessed be the ignorant, _ flashed through his head. If only she knew...

He swallowed, whispering memorized scriptures. He hadn’t eaten in days, but that wasn’t the kind of hunger crippling him, and Joseph pleaded for the Voice to forgive him and make it all stop.

The Father just couldn’t understand. The Deputy fought him in every step of the way down here, refused to atone, purposely went out of her way to test him. Sure, she’d eventually become his Judge, loyal follower and family member, but how much did he have to endure before she gave in? It felt imperative for his health and fragile sanity, at this point.

The longer he prayed, the more the world around him disappeared. His head started hurting, and the distraction was a relief for his loins. The familiar cranial ache told him the Voice would speak to him or show him something soon.

And then...he heard something, far deep in the crevices of his mind. A soft voice, echoing faintly, growing closer, making his head go  _ thump thump thump _ .

“Dad…Dad!!”

Joseph opened his eyes, a completely new world around him. The bunker a faraway place left behind. The soft, fresh air breezed by, carrying the scent of wildflowers and pine. He looked around, lush flora painted with pinks, blues, and whites, a beautifully colorful world he had dreamed of lots of times.

He turned at the voice. A teenager stood before him, brown hood over her head and arms crossed, tapping a sandal covered foot. She wore handmade clothing from leather and fiber, a bow strapped on her back with a quiver full of arrows. A necklace was hidden in her v-neck shirt, and he spotted a tattoo of a sparrow similar to one of his on her collarbone. A raven feather dangled from a strand of long, brown hair behind one ear. A silver fox tail hung off her hip near a leather pack and knife.

“The old covenant’s just another couple of miles. But we best be careful. Spotted sinners along the river.”

Dad? Joseph felt so much older, so much more tired than he felt in the bunker, but there was a peace within him that set him free. This teenage girl was obviously his as she waited for him to answer, arms crossed, a little fidgety, but more so looking concerned for him. She had a fire in her blue-green eyes that seemed familiar.

“They won’t harm us,” Joseph said. “We’ve left each other alone for years. You know that.”

“Yeah, but they still hate us. Hate you. And I’m not gonna let them even think about hurting you.”

Joseph chuckled. “You sound like your mother. Will the scouts be there?”

“Yeah, Ethan said they’d probably be there before dark. I suggest we take shelter there for the night. The cold nights are starting to bring out monstrous bears.”

He put his left hand on her shoulder. “You would know best, sweetie.”

The Father noticed a band on his left ring finger. The blackened silver ring wore the emblem of Eden’s Gate, the square cross with the four symbolic rays spreading out from its center, but the shape of it suggested that it wasn’t a simple signet ring...

His daughter’s smile was beautiful, gracious. She was one of the most beautiful things he ever saw, his chest swelling with pride. This was his future, his reward for all of his sacrifice, his commitment, and hard work. God would truly give him another family, even if he felt he didn’t deserve it.

He closed his eyes and it was all gone in an instant. He was tossed back into the present, the stale air, the cold, bland walls enclosed him. Joseph rubbed his eyes, his head pounding now. The Voice gave him some insight to what his future held if he stayed on the correct path. He needed to convert Mary and not give in to his carnal desires. His future wife and children were on the other side of this spiritual hibernation and rebirth.

But even this would test his patience, his resilience. Their sentence down here would only get harder as days turned into months and months turned into years.

And little did Joseph know, the temptations would only get stronger.

 

* * *

“So, I tell this guy - mind you I just ate bull testicles for the first time ever and had way too much to drink - that the pigs should wear hats. Because come on! Pigs in party hats! Cutest thing ever!”

The fish ogled her in their little baggies, giving her judgemental looks as she cleaned the aquarium. Mary pointed her scrubber at the gold angelfish.

“Someone like you wouldn’t appreciate such a sight, Bob.” And then she carried on, lifting the first bucket of fresh water and dumping it into the clean tank. “By this point, Sharky and Hurk were so lit they started having a testicle eating contest. Never eat a bull’s balls, guys, it’s gross. I’m glad I was drunk. But I got pigs in party hats. Best night ever.”

“Are you talking to the fish?”

Mary leaped out of her skin. She quickly spun around, covering up the mess of the fish tank like she wasn’t supposed to clean it in the first place and was trying to hide it. But the fish in their little baggies were in plain sight. She could have sworn one of them just blinked gleefully at her. Were fish even supposed to blink?

Joseph had snuck into the den, his face skeptical as he looked around at her mess.

“No…Kinda?”

One of his eyebrows went up, and Mary fumbled, blushing with embarrassment. “They’re good listeners!”

He looked genuinely concerned for her sanity now as she defended her rambling (and boy wasn’t that the definition of ironic - Joseph worried about someone else’s mental state), his eyes hovering on the fish as they swam around in circles, bumping into invisible plastic barriers.

_ Oh, you talking to voices in your head is okay, but god forbid I talk to my fish... _

Cue the disappointed head shake, perfectly accessorized with the matching look like she was some poor, lost case. She was getting good at calling those. But she frowned as Joseph, again, was about to leave her alone and slink off.

“Wait!”

The prophet paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at her.

“I kinda got my hands full. Help me out here.” He glared at her and she added sweetly. “Pleeaaase.”

The Father came over to her and scooped up the empty bucket, taking it to the sink to fill.

“You do understand that Mr. Roosevelt didn’t stockpile fish food and supplies, yes?”

Mary frowned, suddenly feeling disheartened, looking down at the reproachfully goggling fish. Why did he have to say it that way?

“I’m aware,” she grumbled when he approached her with the fresh water.

He dumped it into the clean tank, but then sat the bucket down and looked her over.

“Best not get attached.” His eyes hovered over her longer than they usually did, and gave a side glance to the bags of fish.

“I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t ruin this for me,” Mary said. “At least these fish give me something to take care of so I don’t lose my mind down here...and they’re good company.”

Joseph mulled over her words, head slightly cocking, again his eyes wandering. “Something to take care of?”

“Well, yeah. I sure as hell ain’t taking care of you! If I’m not fighting for anything…or anyone, then I have to take care of something…It’s always been my nature. Otherwise, I go crazy.”

A gentle yet strangely ironic smile quirked on his lips, and Mary thought it odd enough to diminish her current frustration with him.

“Fighter and…nurturer.”

The Deputy furrowed her brows in confusion, now concerned, as the tall cult leader lightly chuckled and went to fill another bucket for her. Somehow, she felt that whatever they just exchanged was in a different context to him.

“Yeah? What’s so funny?”

The fish tank was full. The water would have to settle before she could put the fish back in. Joseph sat the bucket down, peering at her curiously.

“Nothing funny. Reverence. The old world lacked such a beautiful synthesis in a soul.”

Mary’s cheeks burned. Did…Did The Father just hit on her? She had never heard him compliment her in such a way.

Joseph frowned, closing his eyes and suddenly shaking his head. He motioned to the fish in the bags, the rosary swaying in his movements. “Nurture them, but please…be prepared for the inevitable.”

The Deputy nodded, not looking at him, burning up and she wasn’t sure if it was because of his radiating body heat he had or if she flushed that much. But when she caught him looking at her again, she thought maybe it was those blue eyes that were burning her.

The prophet pointed at the tank decorations sitting off to the side and on the floor. Mary nodded and the two of them dunked their hands into the fresh water to return the fake plants and rocks.

“How are your wrists?” Joseph asked.

“Better...thanks.”

He vaguely nodded, bending down to get a decoration in the shape of a castle and a few plants. “I’m curious in what kind of conversation you were having with fish of all things.”

Mary laughed. “I wasn’t confessing, if that’s what you’re worried about. I was telling them about my daring adventure of bull testicle eating.”

Joseph banged his head on one of the shelves the aquarium sat on. He rose quickly, rubbing his head, looking pale and dunked the castle into the aquarium without looking at her. Mary raised an eyebrow. He sure was jumpy all of a sudden.

“Right. So you actually participated in that festival?”

“Trust me, it took some coaxing, peer pressure...and a lot of booze.”

Joseph snorted. “Of course.”

“Hey, I’m not a drunk! I’m just a social drinker! And, well, I needed something to help me try an animal’s reproductive parts, okay?! Liquid courage first, balls second.”

Her keeper turned away from her while pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking like he was suffering from one of his migraines. Then it all made sense to Mary on why he was suddenly acting so strange: he had to feel bad for the bulls.

“Ohhh, hey...no worries. The bulls were fine. They just made them steers instead.”

Joseph rounded on her with a look that clearly said ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ And with a coughing-groan sort of sound, he soon fled the den, mumbling under his breath.

“Lord, give me strength.”

What the hell did she say _ this _ time? Mary looked around at her fish audience. They were just as confused and dumb looking as she was.

As she finished returning the decorations into the freshly cleaned aquarium, she heard the shower start up down the hallway.

_ Wait, didn’t he take one already today? He’s seriously getting weird...and wasting water. So much for preserving resources. _

The Deputy shook her head, perplexed. She missed the pull in her gut, the slight pang in her heart and slightly rolled her eyes. Looking the tank over, everything was in place except for the fish.

She told herself not to waste her time trying to understand him. Whatever was going on with Joseph, he clearly wasn’t about to ask her for help, and yet he expected  _ her _ to open up to him. Mary always had pretty good instincts, and right now they were telling her that something was seriously fishy, and not because of her scaly friends...no pun intended. 

Something was about to happen, and she didn’t know what.

Except for that it’d be happening soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really liked how this chapter turned out. Thank you to my dear friend Ravenprincess for all the help! And happening soon, it is! Mary's instincts are on to something, so just hold onto your butts! ;)
> 
> I kinda took the liberty of changing up Dutch's bunker some for the story. More practical and...believable lol.
> 
> I want to thank all the readers giving this story a chance and sticking with it! I appreciate it! <3
> 
> What sort of trouble can these two get into with Mary suffering from cabin fever/boredom and Joseph suffering from blue balls? Stay tuned and find out! ;P


	8. Temptations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Uh, just a quick reminder this story is rated Explicit for obvious reasons given in tags...This is my final warning, hehe ;)

### Chapter 8: Temptations

It was getting worse. No amount of praying, meditation, working out or fasting would get it out of his system. His usual ocean’s worth of patience and control had dried to a puddle, and he had been reduced to a fish helplessly flopping about, eager for water. Joseph didn’t trust himself around Mary for long, and it only drove his former hostage to have her own mood swings with him. She was getting suspicious, he knew. The Deputy questioned him more, straight up interrogated him on occasions. Pretty soon, she’d lose her temper and when she blew, Joseph didn’t stand a snowball in hell’s chance of holding himself back either after having put so much strain on his self-control for days on end.

The Father was used to being tense, carrying a weight on his shoulders that left him weary. He could withdraw himself from most pain, physical mostly, although he wasn’t quite as adaptable to it as John had been. But this was different; it drove him mad. Sprung him tighter. Violence was bred into him just like his brothers, but unlike John and Jacob, Joseph never fed it - not unless he had to. But now he felt he wanted to kill something all the time.

When thirst finally drove him from his room, he felt exposed like a raw nerve. Bumping into Mary outside the sanctuary of his room was unavoidable now, and he practically dreaded it at this point. It was like she secretly lurked there, waiting for him. She knew something was up and either tried to pull it out of him through cheekiness or by unusual attempts at small talk. The Deputy was upset with him, mad for whatever it was he was causing her. But Joseph could feel her trepidation, as if she was afraid to have worn out her welcome, that Joseph would toss her out into the fallout.

Entering the den, Joseph wasn’t surprised to see her there, although the sight of her made him cringe. Mary stood gracelessly atop a chair, her back turned to him, rummaging through the top pantry above the stove.

Normally, he’d reprimand her for sneaking food without his permission, but his stomach flopped over like a dying thing seeing her slender body and curves up for display on a pedestal as if ready for worshiping. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard.

Joseph made a soft, tormented noise not unlike a dying whale that caused her to jerk and whip around in surprise, looking at him wide-eyed, caught red-handed and…juicy red apple in mouth. She plucked the delicious fruit from her equally delicious lips. “I can explain!”

The Deputy hopped down, smiling nervously like a guilty child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Joseph didn’t particularly care anymore. All the cult leader wanted was a drink and to stick his head back in his hole where Mary wouldn’t be able to torment him and hope God would fix him soon. But then he took a good, hard look at the apple and narrowed his eyes.

“Where did you get that apple? I thought there were no more?”

“Uh…well, I have a secret stash.”

“Secret stash…of food?”

“Excuse me, ‘Mister No-Food-Without-My-Express-Permission’. How do you expect me to eat when you’re locking yourself up to jack off in there for days?”

And there it was again - that well-known urge to strangle her, spiking _just_ above his need for copulation. He inwardly recoiled, grinding his teeth at her insolence. Joseph had certainly managed to refrain from jacking off up until now, but her bold choice of words, even meant as a joke, did not help his situation one bit - on the contrary. The preacher took a deep breath before the heat on his face could incinerate him from the inside.

“Just…no more food stashes. Fix yourself food and go on. You no longer need my permission to eat.”

“Well, geez, you shoulda said that days ago,” she huffed.

“I apologize for my…distraction. My visions are...keeping me busy. I just need a few more days to myself.”

Mary raised an eyebrow skeptically, tossing the ripe apple up and down in her hand, hips swaying as she approached him. “Anything I can help you with?”

He dug his nails into his palms so hard they broke the skin. The mild pain helped him focus enough to grin and bear it. With a forced a smile, he pushed by her to get a cup of water. “No.”

“Are you alright, Joseph?” she frowned.

The Father paused, leaning over the sink. She sounded so sincere…so worried. He looked over his shoulder at her, fighting every fiber of instinct in his body to grab her up where she stood and throw her on that couch to continue where his dream had left off days ago.

“I didn’t know you cared, Mary.”

She huffed, taking a bite of tasty apple, false bravado concealing her discomfort. Oh, _how_ he wanted to steal that bite right out of her mouth. “I don’t…I mean…no more than I have to for my own survival down here anyway.”

The Deputy was a good liar at times, and others quite terrible. This occasion was one of the latter. Joseph smirked, gulping his water down in one whole swig. He licked his lips, rounding on her with flashing teeth.

“Why Mary, it’s just you and me down here. And in the face of God, you lie.”

She blushed, but he was met with her typical glare, slowly swallowing her piece of apple. “And you care about me?”

“Why else would I save you in the first place?”

Half-rolling her eyes, she used the apple as a way to prod him. “Because God told you to? Because you want to rub it in my face that you were right? And more importantly, that _I_ was wrong? Because you still want me to atone? Because you secretly still hope to convert me? Besides the obvious fact that you can’t survive down here on your own, just like I can’t. This is a mutual understanding. A necessary arrangement. A symbiotic relationship. Nothing more.”

“But it _will_ be more eventually,” he told her softly, his hand taking her wrist that held the red fruit, running his fingers across her skin, pretending to acknowledge the fading cuts and bruises.

Mary almost jumped out of her skin at his tentative touch and grew as white as a ghost. And Joseph swore he saw her squirm. He _loved_ it. _Reveled_ in her confusion. Watching her be as uncomfortable as him for a change brought him a strange sense of satisfaction. The pull in his pants never felt better. He had meant the “more eventually” in terms of her becoming his Judge, his loyal follower, willing to serve and protect him, but even he would be surprised if she had missed the seductive undercurrent in his tone.

His leer made Mary fumble, and she swallowed hard, only to put on a nervous smile, twisting her wrist that he held a bit tighter than necessary for a quick check-up to flash the apple invitingly at him in order to take the focus of his intense attention off her. Only a couple of bites had been taken out of the alluring fruit.

“Um…you want some of this? It’s the last one.”

And just like that, like a bucket of ice cold Montana mountain glacier snow-melt had been poured over him, Joseph was knocked back to his senses. His eyes fell to the deep red apple in her pale hand, the apparent symbolism of the forbidden fruit not lost on him; the underlying meaning surely a sign from God. He dropped her hand as if she was on fire. With a hiss he rubbed his temple and bolted for the exit, the growing hard-on in his pants begging for release. 

 

* * *

 

Once more, Mary was left behind scratching her head in wonder of what she had just witnessed. At the rate things were becoming weirder and weirder between her and Joseph, she’d have to ask her fishy friends for advice.

_Maybe he’s sick of apples?_

The Deputy shook her head. The prophet was a healthy eater, and he had eaten his share of the remaining apples. She could only imagine how he would fuss when they would have to start eating all the MREs in years’ time. She would probably have to force feed him the rations. He hardly ate as it was. No wonder he was so slender.

_It’s not like I have fucking cooties or anything, what’s his problem?_

She had a bad feeling slowly coming to a boil. His behavior was even more erratic than normal. Was Joseph finally losing it completely now? Was this the beginning of the end of his sanity? She gulped, looking around at all this confined space, the limited room they had to share. No escape. What did she expect being locked down in this bunker with a megalomaniac cult leader that manipulated people to his every whim?

Maybe one day the voices would be too much down here and he would gouge her eyes out like he did to that poor fool in the video she watched all those months ago. Maybe he would cut out her tongue if he ever got tired of her incessant ramblings, make her a silent doll instead, like the broken ones he liked to put back together to work the way he wanted them to.

_But it will be more eventually…_

Mary shivered as his promise whispered through her ears again. There was something about his tone, the dark gleam in his eyes that made her insides constrict tight and turn to mush at the same time.

It made her nervous, put her on edge, but it also lit some kind of fire, a tingle of excitement. And she couldn’t understand her body for its reaction. Was it nerves? Old habits from being fueled by adrenaline racing through Montana countryside, dodging death and indoctrination? She felt like she was a rat in this musty maze with a smug cat prowling for her, and the cat was getting hungrier.

After all that he did, all they had done to each other, Mary should be putting her guard up, making some sort of weapon just in case. Too bad she was fresh out of apples, he seemed to be afraid of those as of very recently. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

However, delusional or not, Joseph had actually been quite fair to her down here. She was the one fighting him the most. He called her on it several times. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. Joseph was still so full of pride, still dangerous, still manipulative, but he’d also given her more chances than she would’ve if she was stuck down here with her family’s killer.

Interestingly, the cult leader had given up a lot of the one thing he always had to have: control. He unlocked her from the bed, unlocked her from the handcuffs, and now was allowing her to eat without his say so. Yes, it was to help appease her, yes, it was meant as a peace offering so they could live more easily side by side down here. And it gave her a good insight into his empathetic, caring nature. But for someone so used to wearing the crown, it reminded her that _something_ was off.

Joseph allowing her to eat without his permission was done more so out of avoidance of her over anything else, and that was not how he usually worked. He relied on that control to get her to sit down and talk to him in hopes she would confess or atone. But with nothing left to hold over her head, Mary wasn’t sure what that meant for her. Or him.

The Deputy knew that it had everything to do with whatever had been eating at Joseph all week. Whether it was truly his visions or migraines or something else entirely, he was wound even tighter than normal and so close to snapping. Mary had a feeling she would get the full brunt of it. 

Tossing away her apple core, Mary sighed, stomach hurting, a tickle in her thighs. She turned on the blue light to the aquarium and checked over the fish. They adored their clean tank and swam aimlessly around with unblinking eyes and puckering lips, ignorant to their keeper’s troubles.

With nothing more left to do for the moment, it was time to call it a day and get ready for bed. Mary hoped to ease the building tension in her body. She wanted nothing more than to forget about everything for a little while and just relax. So much keeping her mind working overtime, and yet she used to hardly ever have a care about anything. But what she hated the most…was that she actually worried for Joseph of all people. He was seriously getting weird, and it was giving her pause. She hoped he would snap out of it, and soon.

 

* * *

 

Considering all the ups and downs lately, Mary more than deserved this. After all, it wasn't every day that one saw the end of the world and lived to tell the tale. The least she deserved was some peace and relaxation, even if it came in the form of a simple luxury such as this: a nice, hot shower.

The accommodations within the bunker didn't allow for much privacy, but at this time of night she was bound to neither wake her bunker companion with the splashy sounds of a tiny whale that she had been told she made in the shower, nor loud, creaky valves or the hot water sloshing through the pipes in the wall and down the drain.

As she walked into the shower room, Mary switched on the light and her eyes crinkled in mirth as they swept over the rude graffiti on the wall. "Don't drop the soap" - the "don't" having been crossed out. Had the old man had such a dirty sense of humor? There was no soap around to be found anyway (maybe for exactly _that_ reason), only a few clear bottles of opaque shower gel standing on the floor underneath each one of the two shower nozzles. Either way, the shameless quote on the grey wall tiles never ceased to amuse her and pulled her lips into a lopsided, amused grin whenever her eyes fell on it.

The Deputy walked over to the shower nearest to the door, reached for the seam of her snug black t-shirt with the faded LOST PROPHETS logo on the front and pulled it over her head. Jess clearly had a strange taste in music judging by the choice of band t-shirts found in the closet in her bedroom. Who on earth, for instance, ever heard of the MANIC STREET PREACHERS anyway? Clearly not the Deputy. Despite that, Mary knew her bunker mate secretly ground his teeth in annoyance at her deliberate choice of clothing, but she couldn't help herself teasing him like this - what was he gonna do, spank her? _Yeah right._ She snorted.

She took her sweet time folding it before she left it on the bench nearby, placing it beside the soft towel she had left there for later. The Deputy kicked off her shoes and socks and shoved them underneath the bench, before making quick work of her tight jeans that sat more loosely on her hips lately; she shimmied out of them easily. Bunker rations didn't do much for her appetite, especially when she recently had to eat them mostly alone. She was missing some company lately...and it literally ate away at her.

Mary peeled almost painfully slow out of her clothing, like in a trance, as if she had all the time in the world - which was basically the truth. Down here, the last two survivors had nothing _but_ time...and each other.

There was no need to hurry.

Not for this.

Last but not least, she slipped out of her panties and bra and flicked them onto the pile of clothing already on the bench with a flourish. 

The Deputy turned to work the valves of the shower, mentally preparing for the rush of ice-cold water that always came first, no matter which valve had been turned. After a few moments of ominous sounds coming from the pipes in the wall, a torrent of liquid ice shot out of the nozzle with a loud hiss, drenching her pale, naked form from head to toe.

A loud squeal ripped itself from her lips involuntarily the moment the freezing water touched her body, probably waking every living creature within a one-mile radius...given that there were any left within that vicinity. So much for keeping quiet; at least her vocal cords still seemed perfectly intact...you never knew when you’d need them.

Mary gave herself time to get used to the temperature, her mind and senses feeling more awake than just seconds before. The water had left her covered in goosebumps from head to toe, nipples pebbled from the cold and hair hanging from her head in dark, wet strings as she waited for the water to slowly heat up. The warmer the water got, the more she leaned into the stream, enjoying the relaxing sensation. A happy sigh slipped from her open mouth as she started to truly unwind, leaning her arms against the wall, her eyes closed and head hanging between her shoulders.

Eventually, before she could fall asleep from relaxation, the Deputy had to do what she came here for. Bending down, she squeezed some of the shower gel from one of the small plastic containers into her hand and began to massage it onto her arms and legs. Another generous squirt from the bottle, and her torso and neck were coated with the pleasantly fresh bergamot notes of the soapy gel as well.

Saving the best two things for last, she went on to squat down and empty one last dose of the thick liquid into her hand. When she straightened up to rub the rest of the shower gel onto her skin, she suddenly felt it - the unmistakable, very insistent feeling of being watched.

She froze, her heart picking up the pace. Mary barely dared to breathe, staring at the tiles before her. She didn't dare blink, let alone move or turn around, forgetting all about the hot water that kept drizzling over her back. A sudden intensity covered the room like a thick, exciting blanket, suffocating her brain. She couldn't think.

To her credit, Mary barely flinched when she felt his hands touch her back, as if she had already expected him to join her. He had to have been watching her for a while before he decided to join her in her endeavor of soaping that enticing body of hers.

The hands that touched her back so tentatively moved slowly first to her shoulder blades, then to her neck and shoulders, slender fingers pressing softly into her flesh. His equally naked shape pressed against her back, one arm sliding down to wrap around her waist, hand coming to rest over her navel; the other moving around her neck to embrace it from underneath her jaw that had fallen open the slightest bit, gulping down a surprised breath.

His eyes closed as his forehead touched the back of her head, The Father taking deep, calming breaths to give her time to adjust to his invading presence. She shivered slightly, breath shallow, though whether out of fear or excitement he couldn't tell yet - but he was determined to find out.

No words were spoken as the hand on her flat belly began to draw slow, mesmerizing circles on her soapy skin. The tips of his fingers performed a slow mating dance on her stomach, pulling an audible, stuttering gasp from her mouth when he decided to test the waters and kiss the outer shell of her ear.

When he moved on to nibbling, it seemed to finally break the spell on her. The Deputy's head fell back to his shoulder with a sigh as she interlaced her own fingers with his while they busied themselves exploring the planes, curves and valleys of her nude form; straying from her slim throat down past her collarbone, on to her breasts...

As his exploring fingers went on to appreciate her boobs in all their bared glory, pinching and kneading to his heart's full content, her hand still along for the ride, his mouth took an interest in sampling her neck with his teeth and lips. Taking care to never break her skin while leaving his mark, The Father worked all the way from the soft skin right underneath her ears down to her shoulders and back, savoring her taste and her noticeably shivering in his arms.

The thought that his touch didn't leave her unaffected pleased the aroused prophet infinitely and encouraged him to get bolder. The hand on her waist pulled her towards him and gave her inviting backside a closeup of the barely restrained animal she had unknowingly awoken. His erection of steel made it unmistakable that she had his full attention and Joseph had no intention of getting distracted anytime soon, come heaven or hell.

Her audible gasp confirmed the tangible tension that was continuously building between them now, hurling them both towards an inescapable destination. Mary closed her eyes and pressed her back against his front when the hand that had been toying with her breasts snaked down to her buttocks and began fondling them in great interest. His fiery bunker mate returned the favour by unashamedly grabbing a good handful of his butt and squeezing it appreciatively. He flinched in surprise, earning himself one of her cheeky giggles. _Should have expected that._ His mouth twisted in an amused smile.

Her hand that had been entwined with his pulled free to grab his neck and draw down his face to her shoulder. As he busied his lips with his new target, her face turned to the side to plant a soft kiss on his cheek, sneaking out a tiny bit of tongue to slowly lick the moisture from his chiseled cheekbone. His heartbeat first stumbled and then seemed to gallop in his chest twice the previous speed. _This is how I die_ , flashed through his mind as he struggled to not lose his composure. He would be a liar if he said that he minded this way of kicking the bucket. The prophet of Eden’s Gate would gladly be buried with her down here in the bunker for the rest of eternity if that was how it felt to pass away.

While he could easily have remained this way for the rest of his existence, he was eager to push things further and see where it would take them. _Somewhere interesting for sure_ , he couldn't help grinning internally. He was way too tempted to resist lifting his hand and landing it back on her buttcheek with a resounding slap. A painfully pleasant heat spread all over the glistening behind. The surprised squeak Mary gave was just the cherry on top.

Despite flinching away from his hand at first, she eventually let him caress the reddening cheek of her apple-shaped butt to ease away the sharp sting, pushing encouragingly into his gentle grip. Another high-pitched yelp followed when he slapped her ass again and again, steadily increasing the strength he used to set her behind aflame. She _did_ have a good spanking coming for quite a while after all; this saucy, insolent wench that had kept tormenting him for the past few weeks. 

Nobody could blame him for meshing pleasure with "business" - it _was_ his duty, after all, to keep the impertinent thorn in his side in line while she lived under his tender care. He'd make sure she'd enjoy the loving disciplining as much as he did. And _enjoy it_ he certainly did. Joseph would have to repent for this later, no doubt - but it would be _so_ worth it. There were sins that weren’t worth atoning for, and sins that were. _This_ was definitely one of the latter.

A few slaps later, her moans were giving away her state of helpless arousal, and he returned to slowly petting the burn away as her ass started to wiggle against the fleshy ramrod in her back that threatened her with unspeakable pleasure. Once more he felt his heart rate spike as his hips jerked forward in reply to her luscious little lap dance. He gulped, wondering if she was ready to slowly move towards the "main event" - she certainly seemed keen on doing so.

His unspoken question became answered when the Deputy turned in his arms, pressing her wet, buck naked form to his. Her cleavage was crushed against his broad torso, granting him an… _inspiring_ view. It certainly left little to the imagination and even less to complain about. The best thing about it went unseen though - unseen but not unfelt. Her pert buds poked him in the chest, giving him their fullest attention as she was molded against him. _Could this day get any better?_ He certainly hoped it could...GREED _was_ one of his sins after all.

Their closeness made his cock twitch and cry happy tears of precum as they embraced. Lacing her arms around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as she bit her plump, lower lip. He didn't need more of an invitation than that. Lowering his face, his mouth captured hers as she pulled him closer to his destiny. The moment their lips touched felt like fireworks going off in his stomach. All of this felt right, so _incredibly_ right _._ Joseph never wanted to let her go again, not even to catch a breath.

_Screw breathing. So overrated._

When his tongue finally dipped into her mouth, he caught a taste of the sweet apple she had had earlier. Ambrosia had nothing on her flavor. Their tongues entwined and never seemed to want to separate from each other again. The Deputy moaning into his mouth seemed like the sweetest chant he’d ever listened to. Her reverberating gospel of lust was felt all the way down to his bones. Maybe this was the kind of proverbial tongue lashings that he should’ve started out with from the beginning if they turned her into such a pliable, defenseless mess in his arms; it certainly would have saved him a lot of headaches in the past.

Mary was clearly caught off guard when he interrupted their make-out session to pick her up under her buttocks and push her against the cold tiles, making her skin break out in goosebumps from the cold. Joseph used his hips to nudge her higher against the wall, positioning himself as close to paradise as a wretched soul such as his could ever hope for; the wide open, fleshy gate to heaven right above him, kissing the tip of his engorged cock hello, her folds eagerly nuzzling it. 

Her confusion at the short break didn't last long when he went right back to attacking her lips with his own full of fervor, kissing her like it was going out of fashion; after all, you never know, right? _Better to be safe than sorry._ At least, that’s how his little brother John would have argued, and out of the three Seed siblings, John always had known best when it came to women.

Now his mouth strayed south though; aiming dangerously close to the exciting mounds on display; _"chesticles"_ , his brother Jacob would crudely have called them, a crooked grin on his face. Joseph refrained from calling them that though and chose to just call them _heaven sent_ and _ballistic_ in his mind; his mouth was too busy watering at the sight of them to utter even a single word of praise or admiration. Worshiping, that's what hands were for - be it by raising his folded hands in prayer or experiencing the wonder of human female biology first-hand - pun totally intended.

So, worship he did.

Profusely.

Making her sing his praise with his skilled hands, gasps and moans dripping from her mouth like the drops of water rolling down their skins; their whisper like the most passionate gospel of desire.

But it wasn't enough.

The beast in Joseph that was GREED was fully awake now, and it wasn't going to back down until he gave it what it wanted. His sin had fully taken over now, and the only way to satisfy it was by devouring her. His beard scratched pleasantly over her areola as he decided to compliment her with his mouth with everything but words; unashamedly memorizing her taste for eternity as he welcomed the perky pink flesh between his lips to suckle it like a parched man in the desert.

Mary cried out softly as her hands found their way into his hair that had become disheveled, his prideful man bun long gone, leaving behind only tousled long, dark curls. She raked her hands through his hair, arching into his welcoming mouth, barely managing to hold herself upright against the wall by grabbing one of the nearby water pipes. The pliable woman bucking in his arms came dangerously close to slipping and falling, but the drenched cult leader had no time for this; he only hugged her closer, locking her in between his pair of sinewy arms, trapping her there without another thought.

A hungry man has no conscience.

The Father kept on strumming her nipples back and forth with his tongue, teasing her until she was humming and vibrating like a finely tuned instrument. It didn't slip his attention that her hardened nubs cheered him on as they blushed and swelled with pride, inviting him to linger. He never could deny her, not anymore, so he indulged her until she was squirming in his arms.

Mary kept pushing his face closer to her breasts even though they both had to be sore from his ministrations by now. He'd sucked hard enough to feel her pulse rushing through her sensitive peaks, drumming an exciting melody into his lips that told him she was about as ready as she'd ever be, patience be damned. Now that he'd literally gotten a taste of her, he was ready to burst and had to unload before his balls turned an even deeper shade of blue than the frozen lakes of Montana in winter time.

Giddiness filled him like the dense steam now filling the chamber as he thought about the fact that he was about to _finally_ have her. How long he had waited to finally express his appetite in a more… _tangible_ manner. How much he’d longed for her, and how much she’d made him suffer in her ignorance. His long-suffering endurance had brought him to this very moment at last.

In the end, the dam broke on his self-control and his sin tore both of them into a maelstrom of unstoppable hunger for each other. Mary locked her eyes with his and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could articulate what she had on her mind, he had already stolen away her breath along with her words, sucking them straight from her tongue. He readjusted his grip on her thighs and nudged her legs that were already wrapped around his hips a bit higher. She gulped in anticipation. 

A generous squeeze of her ass was the only warning she got.

Taking the plunge, Joseph dove into her head first with one firm, deep push, and he never wanted to come up for air ever again. They both echoed loudly in unison. 

It was too much - too much and never enough.

_Heaven. Pure heaven._

The invading force of his thick dick pushed aside any and all resistance that could have remained, submitting her to his movements as she did her best to reciprocate. He pistoned fluidly into her tight, wet core of lava like he was born to do it.

Only the soft smacking sounds of their hungry, busy mouths and the harsh, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin could be heard over the never-ending susurrus of the water streaming down their united bodies. As their rutting slowly gained momentum and became fevered, so did their level of noise, now joined by a duet of rivaling voices, humming and moaning up a storm that was always only going to end one way: in total, blissful ecstasy.

Joseph still kept picking up the speed as the compact bundle of Wrath wound around him like the snake curled around the Tree of Life began showing signs of nearing her climax rapidly as well as the breaking point of her voice. The sweat that now kept dewing on their skin was being washed away the second it beaded out of their bodies like crystallized desire.

Mary sounded hoarse but ecstatic, her voice cords cut to ribbons by each push, her pitch reaching new heights with every single one of his hard thrusts. He didn’t even try to mask his own groans of pleasure as he felt the pull and suction of her soaked inner sanctum; constricting around him occasionally in the most delicious way, preparing them both for the impending collapse of their shared experience as her moans became more and more frequent. 

_Almost there...almost..._

When their orgasms hit them, it was perfectly synchronized and sudden. A shot in the dark that hit the mark _perfectly_.

He thought he could hear her shout-gasp an enraptured **_Joseph!_ ** before their close encounter came to a quivering end as he felt the rapid staccato of contractions milking him for every last drop he had to give. 

And he had _plenty_ to give.

The Father slammed his palm hard and repeatedly against the cold tile wall next to where he pressed his forehead against it as he came right then and there in his own hand and against the wall, in a series of white-hot, breathless spurts; the sounds of both him hitting the wall and his desperate moans and gasps seeming unnaturally loud in his own ears. Knowing his luck, he probably just woke half of the almost non-existent neighborhood, most prominently a certain apple loving Deputy.

He silently prayed that his tormentor wasn't on one of her occasional late night walks through the bunker, or else she would find him in a very compromising situation that would only serve to make things even more awkward between them. Right, as if that were even possible...

Rivulets of pearly white dripped down the wall, and his eyes followed them as they disappeared into the grill covered hole in the floor. Leaning his forehead against his left arm, breathing heavily, the rosary dangling wet, limp and useless in front of his face, he slowed down the pumping of his right hand and groaned as the last opaque tears his dick wept over Mary trickled silently to the tile floor. He felt utterly boneless and satisfied...for the moment.

So much for "cooling things down". He had entered the shower fully intending to put his burning desire on ice with a good helping of freezing cold water, but the shower had completely failed to douse the raging inferno in his loins. Instead of nipping the rise of his sin in the bud it had come to full bloom once he remembered first her shapely behind on that pedestal and then her innocent offer of a bite of her apple - followed by a hearty bite into the ripe fruit, the sweet juice of it coating her soft, pink lips before she licked it off slowly.

It had been too much. He was but a man and he had reached his breaking point. No amount of praying could get his rising craving for her under control, so he'd ended up doing what any sensible bloke would have ended up doing: he took things into his own hands.

So, his mind had started wandering to keep up with the eager movements of his hands...

His LUST carving burned hot like magma on his skin as if reawakened by being sliced open with a blade, cutting sharper and deeper than any other before it; the sin reignited and hungry to be fed, and Joseph was helpless to stop it. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer need to do its bidding now that it had been reanimated.

If he had had any energy left after this rather intense session of self-pleasuring, he would’ve laughed at himself for being so weak after all. Joseph could pray and fast and meditate all that he wanted, when push came to shove (no pun intended), he was just as much a red-blooded male as any other man. He had been kidding himself thinking otherwise. The Father knew his relief would be short-lived once he crossed paths with _her_ again, but for the moment the pressure was lessened to a more bearable level.

After the last of his thick spend had finally swirled down the drain it took the preacher a few more minutes to catch his breath, regain any semblance of control over his body, and for his heart rate to return to its normal rhythm. He was flushed and feeling slightly wobbly on his usually strong legs that seemed to be made out of rubber as he leaned against the wet shower wall.

When the cold water kept splashing down the toned muscles of his hardened body, Joseph leaned his head back into the stream of cold water, closing his eyes. _Fuck._

Damn that woman. Damn his body. Damn it all. He was lost.

 

* * *

 

He hardly slept. He hardly ate or drank. Two days after his self-pleasuring just to give him some sort of release drove Joseph overboard in self-punishment. He should have cut open his LUST carving once more, the deepest of his engraved sins besides the PRIDE on his back. Instead, he let the burn he felt from it scorch him from the inside, a constant, unbearable discomfort that he deserved.

The storm rumbling above the bunker stirred him over an hour ago, and now The Father tried to continue praying and meditating, as though to appease his Lord for giving into his urges. But it wasn’t working. And Joseph felt his self-control slowly cracking, about to shatter, nearly at the brink.

Days of not hearing from the Voice made him realize God was not happy with him.

Grinding his jaw, Joseph ceased his scriptures, staring at the candles he lit around his makeshift altar. He sneered at their flickering flames, and placed his palm over their amber glow. He grimaced as they burned his flesh.

“Hmmmmmmmm.”

He closed his eyes, snatching hold of the sliver of pleasure the pain caused. Focused on that, honed on it and directed it. This was how John handled pain. He wielded it like a sorcerer, redirected it and played with it, because pain was pleasure to him.

Thunder roared above, but as Joseph took a deep, slow breath, focusing on the licking candle flames below his charring palm, the sounds of the bunker disappeared. And he felt fire. A tall, plinth of flames that clawed for the heavens.

Joseph opened his eyes. The fire glowed with reds and oranges in the darkness of night, smoke billowing up towards the stars. The Montana sky, so open and clear, thousands and thousands of stars stretched for eternity.

He looked around. There were torches lighting paths, lighting huts and wooden barns, but they weren’t near as big as the bonfire in front of him. A tall, reinforced log fence surrounded the community, casting shadows onto a river that cut through, powering a watermill.

So many faces he knew, yet didn’t know. They greeted him in passing, all wearing similar clothes he saw his daughter wearing last time. There were horses, livestock, and he saw pet cougars and wolves.

Though it was night, there were many people of all ages out, walking paths to wooden buildings or sitting near fires. The wind was cool, and he saw autumn colors in the surrounding trees within the walls and those towering on the other side and on the mountains.

Joseph spotted his daughter not far from the bonfire, crouched before two children who looked to be twins, a boy and a girl, around five years old, chatting with them. Joseph smiled, excited to see her again, stepping towards her, but two different voices he somehow recognized caught his attention.

“I’m telling you, drop it, Joshua.”

“Come on, Josiah. So what if Sis and Ethan got Chosen positions? You still got another year or two before you’re old enough. What’re you so worried about, anyway? You act so much like Dad you’ll probably end up leading one day anyway.”

“Not the point, little brother.”

“Eesh, you’re as moody as Ethan sometimes.”

“Am not!”

Joseph turned just as two boys, similar in age, showed up at the bonfire. The older boy looked around thirteen or so, and Joseph could tell just by looking at him that he was his. He was nearly his spitting image, tall, blue eyes, brown hair that fell to the tops of his shoulders, same clothing as everyone else. The younger boy had to be only a year in difference, blue eyes and brown hair like Joseph as well, but while the older boy seemed calm, strong, shrewd, the younger boy put on an air of mischief and resourcefulness.

Joseph wasn’t sure what to think. He was stunned. _Three_ children? A girl and two boys...just like what was taken from him...

“Sorry we’re late, Dad,” Josiah said, giving a mild glare to Joshua. “Joshua made a mess of things at the stables.”

“I did not! Why is it always my fault?!”

Josiah sighed. “Because you’re a little heathen, is why.”

Before Joseph could say anything, their heads were knocked together by his daughter, who had come over and slipped right up from behind him without him noticing.

“Ow!” the boys yelped.

“Dad’s got enough to worry about right now without you two adding to his grief,” his daughter said in scolding.

“Mom still isn’t back?” Joshua asked, looking to Joseph in mild panic.

“You don’t think she ran into the sinners, do you?” Josiah added.

“Don’t make it worse by putting such thoughts into his head!” the oldest sister gasped.

Joseph instinctively gave them an assuring smile. “Your mother is fine. She’ll return. Have faith in her.”

“We do,” his children replied in unison.

Before he could say anything else, a horn blew, echoing through the community from near a large set of wooden gates. Joseph’s daughter jumped in glee, pushing past her brothers and running down the hill.

“Mom’s back!”

His heart fluttered, and The Father couldn’t be sure if it was his future self being relieved, excited that his wife was returning, or that this vision thrilled him that he may get to see the face of his future wife, the mother of his children.

His younger son took off after his sister. His older son stayed at his side. But as the two of them started walking down the path, thunder clapped above him. Joseph looked to the clear sky, and a series of loud, frantic knocks rippled through his ears, unnatural on the wind.

He suddenly came to, his skin scalded from the fire. Joseph withdrew his hand, baring teeth and growling. The knocks came again. It took him a moment to get his bearings, suddenly dizzy. The pain from his burned hand had nothing on the migraine that suddenly split through his skull, the one that always came after a vision.

He glared at the door. What was the matter? What could possibly be so important for her to rip him out of his self-imposed isolation? On the other side of it, Mary repeatedly bashed her fists into the door in a loud beat, but didn’t say anything. Frustrated, the prophet squeezed his burned hand and stood. 

His lack of self-control over his body made him wary though. 

 _No. Don’t answer it._  

His inner voice seemed to warn him from letting her anywhere near him. Her timing was more than unfortunate, to say the least. He couldn’t trust himself yet, but she had interrupted his vision, maybe costing him from seeing something paramount. Her insolence wouldn’t go unpunished this time. With a huff, Joseph marched to the door and answered it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Got ya again on that shower fantasy, huh? ;D I promise no more fake outs, (we are building to the real smut soon). Sorry for the late update btw, I got second and third degree burns on hand and arm from a flash burn from a gas stove exploding. Healing has been a real bitch! >.>
> 
> Thank you to everyone following this story, reading it, giving kudos/comments, etc. It means alot to me, especially since my right arm looks like a mummy (makes typing a bit slower lol).
> 
> And again, much love and gratitude to my 'sister from another mister' and co-creator of this story Ravenprincess. Her shower fantasy smut scene was freaking yummy. :3 <3
> 
> Also, there is a reason in this chapter we "learn" of Joseph's future sons' names but not his daughter's. It also gives some good insight into the sequel I plan on writing for this very story. :D
> 
> Til next time, take care! <3


	9. Revelations

### Chapter 9: Revelations

Mary giggled, her small form reaching arms up, bathing suit soaked and dripping pool water around her feet. “Again, Daddy!”

“Don’t you think I’m gettin’ a little too old tossing you girls around?” Dad asked, flashing that trademark smile of his, forever embedded into her memory.

“Never!” Sarah squealed in the water, swimming about in a child’s form of doggy paddling. Mary forgot how small she was at that age, when Dad was still alive.

The Deputy had taken her looks after her father: sandy brown hair & green eyes. Sarah’s hair was a tad darker and her eyes blue, like their mother’s.

Dad feigned exhaustion, acting like he was about to collapse, palm tree swimming trunks just as drenched as the girls’ swimming suits.

“Daaaaaddy! I know you’re faking being tired! Throw me!” Mary complained.

“Alright, alright. Come on, sweetie, one more and then it’s time to get out.”

Mary nodded avidly, letting her father pick her up off the deck. He tossed her with strong arms, as though she was weightless and he strong like Superman. She shrieked through the air, splashing into the clear water of the pool. Breaking the surface with a gasp, she kicked her legs and spotted Sarah nearby.

The sisters splashed each other with bouts of giggles and then  _ WHOOSH _ large waves crashed into them. Mary coughed, through snorts of laughter, wiping water and soaked hair from her eyes. Dad came to the surface, giving them a goofy face.

“How’s that for a splash?”

“You do the biggest cannonballs, Daddy,” Sarah giggled.

“Dinner’s almost ready!”

The soft voice echoed from the open back door the deck connected to. Their mother peeked out with a smile, wiping her hands dry with a cloth. “It’s spaghetti!”

“Heck yeah!” Mary exclaimed.

“I’m starving, I’m gonna have a big plate!”

Their father laughed at Sarah’s confident words. “Not if I eat it all first!”

He swam for the ladder with quick, strong strides. The girls gasped and raced after him. They climbed out of the pool and ran across the deck, water spilling off of them and leaving a trail of puddles under their feet.

The door opened and Mom stood in the doorway, hands on hips, stern look barely hiding a budding grin. “I don’t think so! Get yourselves dry first before coming into this house! That means you too, Mr. Samson.”

“Oh, but Mrs. Samson, I’m a feeble, hungry man. Have mercy.”

Their mother rolled her eyes as Mary, Sarah, and their father dried themselves off. “Oh, whatever, Michael.”

She turned her back and Dad popped her in the leg with his towel, making her whirl around. “I will kick your ass!”

Sarah gasped. “Mommy cussed!”

Mary nudged her sister. “That means we get a quarter. Each.”

Mom held a hand over her mouth, embarrassed but playfully glaring at Dad. Mary forgot how beautiful she was before everything changed.

Mom gestured for them to get into the house. Sarah slipped inside. Mary felt a cool gust of wind hit her wet form, pruney skin and all. She looked over her shoulder, saw dark clouds in the distance, the soft smell of rain hanging in the air. She had seen many like it. But there was something ominous about this one, its incoming gales like a blade skimming across her skin.

Mary went inside with her father close behind her. She ran up the stairs to join Sarah in their room and change before dinner. They raced back downstairs to the table and caught the tail end of a conversation between their parents.

“Why Montana?” Mom asked, sitting out silverware while Dad poured drinks. “We usually stay here for vacation. There’s plenty to do in Florida.”

Dad chuckled. “Whaddya mean, why Montana? You know that’s where I’m from, hun. I just think the girls would love it. The mountains, the wilderness, all the different animals. A break from swamps and city.” He had changed out of his swimming trunks into normal clothes. Mary often thought he looked like a superhero in his uniform.

The police scanner buzzed off on a nearby counter. Dad paused, listening to it. Something about a storm coming in. He quickly dropped the subject when Mary and Sarah sat down at the table. Their mother handed them their plates but the children waited for their parents to sit down. Their father said grace and they dug in.

They weren’t able to even finish dinner before a sudden deluge of rainfall came, followed by a boom of thunder. The family looked outside, sheets of water soaking the ground and roads. Dark gray and nearly black clouds blotted out the sun, eclipsing the day like it was nearly nightfall. 

After dinner, Mary helped her mother clean up while Sarah and Dad had a quick bible study. He often switched between them. Mary had learned most of the hymns from her mother, and a lot more scriptures from her father. They went to church regularly, but Mary much preferred learning the bible with her father. He made it feel real, inspiring, while church tended to feel stuffy and vague.

The lights flickered when Mary and her mother entered the living room. Dad and Sarah laid on their stomachs on a pallet of blankets on the floor. Mary giggled as her father had one leg hiked up over his back, face propped up in his hand from his elbow, looking very much like a teenage girl flipping through a magazine.

Sarah took notes while Dad read a scripture, one Mary knew he loved. “Depart from evil, and do good, and you will live in the land forever. Indeed, the Lord loves justice, and he will not abandon his godly ones. They are kept safe forever, but the lawless will be chased away, and the descendants of the wicked will be cut off. The righteous will inherit the land, and they will dwell in it forever.”

“That’s what you do!” Sarah praised. “You keep people safe and fight evil every day. God must surely love you for all you do, Daddy.”

Dad grinned at her, his eyes passing over Mary and Mom with a proud, loving gleam as they sat down and joined them. He ruffled Sarah’s hair, chortling.

“That He sure does. Look at this wonderful family He has blessed me with. It doesn’t get any better than this! But remember, even when it seems like God doesn’t love you, or that He doesn’t hear you, He always does. And we must keep doing the best that we can for others, for our loved ones and strangers alike. It’s our duty to each other. We must teach love and compassion, understanding, and chase away and fight back against evil. Stomp its ass into the ground if we must.”

Mary and Sarah giggled while their mother shook her head. Dad faked shock, covering his mouth before continuing.

“Make a positive influence, a difference, and keep it kindled.”

Mary smiled. “Daddy, it’s like you know everything.”

Her father frowned, sitting up. “Well, sweetie, I don’t. Far from it, actually. But I’ll tell you this. I didn’t use to be a good guy. Before I met your mother, I was a bad man. I did a lot of bad things. Drugs, drinking, getting into fights, you name it. Took me almost dying before I woke up. Before I found God. Took me a while to become who I am today, but I wouldn’t change anything.”

Later that evening, when an unsettling darkness had blanketed the night thanks to the ongoing storm, Mary and Sarah got ready for bed. The rain crashed down on the roof, spilled over the windows. Thunder boomed after flashes of lightning. When they went downstairs to say goodnight to their parents, they found their father dressed in his police uniform, radio hissing and talking on his waist band.

“Dad? Where are you going? You got called into work?” Mary asked.

He bent down to be level with them, smiling, though his eyes glistened with uncertainty. “Emergency call. I gotta go. You girls get into bed now, ya hear? I’ll be back later.”

“But the storm is bad,” Sarah mumbled, frowning.

Dad smiled, pinching her cheek. “Florida’s always got bad storms in the summer, sweetie. I’ll be back. I love you both.”

“Love you, Daddy,” the daughters said in unison and hugged him tight.

Not knowing it would be the last time they saw him ever again.

Michael Samson never came home. He died serving and protecting, trying to help those who needed him. Oblivious to his fate, the ones who really needed him slept in their beds waiting for his return.

It changed Mary’s life forever. One of many unfortunate circumstances that set her on the path to where she was today. It damn near broke her, but little did she know that just three years after that, she’d lose everything ever dear to her.

The first injustice. The birth of her inner Wrath, her resolve to make sure no one had to suffer from such injustice ever again. And the only way she could do that was to follow in the footsteps of the most inspiring man she ever knew - after years in juvenile detention and “emotional therapy” of course.

Funny how life turns out. Best laid plans and all that...

_ BOOM! _

The Deputy jumped up, panicked, legs kicking in her bed as she looked all around her in the darkness, only a soft sliver of light creeping into her room from a crack in the door. Gasping, she listened, heart thumping all over her ribcage, stressed from her dream and now whatever had woken her from it.

Another low explosion sounded above her head, rumbling through the pipes and concrete. Catching her breath, Mary recognized the sound. Thunder. A storm must’ve been blowing through above them on the surface. She couldn’t hear the rain, but the thunder was enough to send her out of bed.

Mary wasn’t scared of storms or thunder, not normally. But dreaming about her father, the last night she saw him, must’ve opened a door inside her to her childhood fears and insecurities. She wasn’t sure if the storm above brought on the dream or if it was happenstance, but now she was a wreck.

The Deputy paced her room, holding herself. The thunder grumbled again and she shivered. Tears streamed down her face involuntarily. _ Get a grip on yourself, It was just a dream! _

She scolded herself, but the apprehension she felt ate away at her, building from days of near solitude and confinement. She had hardly seen her keeper in two days, not since she offered him a bite of that apple.

Mary sat down on her bed, wiping her eyes, drumming her feet in unease. She took a moment to see if the horrible feelings tangled in her chest would subside, but they didn’t. It became clear that she needed someone to talk to, someone to get her mind off things.

She thought she could do it: be by herself and be fine. Now  _ that  _ had been nothing but a colossal miscalculation on her behalf. She had been so, so wrong. But admitting defeat meant going willingly to Joseph - and deep down something told her that’s exactly what he wanted her to do. All this avoidance and giving her the cold shoulder toward her was a power play; a way to manipulate her. The man had such power, such magnetism, and he knew exactly how to exploit it. His reverse psychology - pushing her away to draw her in - was starting to work on her. And it frustrated the hell out of her.

Another rumble cracked above her head, reverberating through the walls. She saw the lights outside her room flicker. Mary was up on her feet in seconds, bolting out the bedroom door.

 

* * *

The incessant pounding on the door continued even as Joseph grabbed the doorknob and tore the door open. Mary almost fell in on his feet, but caught herself. She backed away, arms constricting around her chest.

“What?” The Father asked with a bit more bite than intended.

Joseph was ready to punish her this time for her insolence. Breaking his concentration and making him lose the vision had created a nasty migraine and soured his mood. Mostly though, he was still so very concerned that his body would react to her in a much more primal way.

He frowned at the picture before him. The Deputy was in tears, slightly shaking. Her usual confidence and sassiness nowhere in sight. His body did react to her, but in a completely different way than he thought it would. His stomach clenched in worry, concern for her eating at him.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone gentle. “Mary?”

“Joseph...I don’t care what kind of conditioning shit you’re pulling on me, okay? Whatever it is - congrats, it’s working. I-I need someone to talk to. Please, just this once. I’ll go crazy if I don’t get this off my chest...”

Mary swallowed back tears, like she was upset with herself for showing weakness. Every fiber in Joseph’s body told him not to do it. He couldn’t risk it, considering his unchecked urges. In the end, his empathetic side won out to the animal, and he touched her shoulder, supporting her as she stood confused and upset.

“Shhhh. Alright, alright.”

He opened his door to her. She hovered outside, unsure, and then stepped in. Joseph offered her a chair at a small table in the room. The cult leader rubbed his burned hand through his beard as he watched her sit down, his mind tussling with his heart.

The Father sat down across from her, arms out on the table. He gestured to her slowly after taking in her rattled appearance.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Mary.”

Her eyes closed at his voice, as though it was a blessing to hear to her. Joseph waited patiently for her to collect herself. And he was surprised that his patience flooded back to him now after it had been bone-dry for days. Thunder boomed above their heads, the lights sputtering in the bunker. He saw Mary flinch and look at the ceiling.

The Deputy struggled with herself. The Father wasn’t sure if it was from not knowing what to say or if it was because it was him. Mary fidgeted, but wasn’t shaking nearly as bad as before. Joseph reached over and tentatively touched her hand. She jumped, eyes going to his large hand encasing over her small one.

“I cannot help you if you do not confide in me. Whatever it is, let it all out.”

He stroked his fingers down her soft hand and returned them to resting on the table in front of his chest, studying her.

She took a deep breath. “My…father died in a storm like the one above us. He was killed saving a family from drowning in a flash flood when he got dragged into it himself. Dad was a police officer. A good one. He - He went out of his way to help people, even when not in uniform. My father told me…he wasn’t always a good man. For a long time he was a bad one, but he found God after nearly destroying himself. From that time on, he dedicated his life to protecting the innocent. Helping those that needed it. He made a difference. The world was better with him in it.”

Joseph frowned, taking in every delicate feature of her beautiful face. “I’m sorry.”

Mary looked up to the ceiling, wiping a tear away. “Why do good people die? Why do they suffer? Why do bad people get away with hurting others? Why do people like you and me, who have done terrible things, get to live while others burn? Why does God allow it to happen? Nothing makes sense anymore...”

Joseph lowered his eyes to his hands on the table, fingers twitching where the rosary clung tight. He knew saying “God works in mysterious ways” wasn’t going to cut it. There was more to what she asked. It implied her father, yes, but something else was tied there, weighing her words down, crushing her.

_ Sarah…it has to be her. _

Joseph inhaled deeply, looking Mary straight in the eye as she waited for him. “God allows it to happen because He wants  _ us _ to do something about it. That is our purpose here. And many of us have forgotten that. Why do you think He burned it all away? The issue is freedom. The natural order is free to do as it wants, as is the free will God granted us. God puts a high price on that freedom.”

Mary lowered her eyes, fingers squeezing shut into weak fists.

“Your father didn’t die  _ because _ he was good. He died because of the natural order, as free and fickle as it is predictable. He died doing what was right, what was honorable, and not many people have that within them.”

Joseph couldn’t help her with Sarah though - not until she confided in him about her, confessed to him all that had happened to her. He watched her pick at her fingers, chewing her lip. The tears had stopped, drying on her face, but she couldn’t look him in the eye.

He leaned forward. “God doesn’t  _ want _ good people to suffer, Mary. He wants us to help each other. To take a stand against evil. He wants us to turn our righteous anger for such evil and turn it into a force of good. It’s our duty to each other.”

Her head snapped up; green eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

His eyes took hold of the pretty face inked on his arm and sighed. “But we chose to toss that duty aside, and the world became corrupt and vile and cruel. Where most people were ignorant of those suffering around them or simply chose not to care. Instead of giving to others, we took more than we needed for ourselves. Instead of opening our arms we have closed our fists. Volitional evil is man’s creation and just like every plague before it, it infected souls and spread like sickness. The antibodies are the righteous, but there just wasn’t enough. God had to step in...He asked me to cleanse people, to save those worthy, in order to have a proper clean slate.”

“Righteous,” Mary whispered, looking conflicted. “I thought…I thought I was doing right. I was an officer of the law…like my dad. I did what he would have done…”

“Though you are being punished for your sins, your purpose was for virtue…for justice. Just as were all of my transgressions. We are two sides of the same coin, Mary.”

The Deputy let out a breath she had been holding, closing her eyes for a moment, another tear trickling down her cheek, although her body seemed to relax just slightly.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Joseph caught her eyes with his, and he couldn’t quite read what her expression was, but it made his heart flutter. “And what happens to the righteous? They inherit the land… _ forever _ . I guess you and I will have to do once God’s wrath has blown through.”

She shifted in her seat. “You…really think we’re the only ones left?”

Joseph saw other survivors in his visions, remnants from his Project and their families mostly. His followers, his children, but more importantly he saw his children by blood as well. But he needed to keep Mary dependent on him, isolated. It was the only way he would convert her and get her loyalty. But he couldn’t help but feel there was another reason he wanted her to think they were the only ones…

“Yes. Just you…and me.”

Mary’s cheeks flushed and she looked away, towards the altar he had made. A long silence fell between them, blanketing the family room of bunk beds and furniture and altar with only the periodic thunder to break it. The Deputy looked everywhere but at him, and Joseph took in every detail of her, suddenly feeling like he wanted to kill something again.

He cleared his throat. “Are you…alright, now?”

She finally looked at him, and she smiled. It was small, but genuine. “Yeah…I think so...Thank you, Joseph.”

He inwardly moaned at the praise. But he was more relieved that she was nearly back to her normal self, despite what that would mean for his self-control. Another large boom of thunder, and Mary jumped, looking up at the ceiling and tensing.

“Afraid of storms?”

Mary thinned her lips. “Not usually. I had a dream about my dad and that storm…It’s what started this. I think it just disturbed me, is all.”

Joseph nodded, thinking. He stood up, walking around the table to Mary. He was surprised she didn’t wince as he reached out to touch her like she normally did. He stroked his fingers through her silky hair, just once, but it definitely wasn’t enough.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said.

Mary nodded, unsure, swallowing. Joseph left his room and went to the den. He heated up a cup of water and steeped a bag of valerian root tea into it and returned to his room. Upon entering his room, he sighed, watching as Mary flipped through his stuff on the altar.

“You really shouldn’t go through other people’s belongings,” Joseph said, shaking his head. He wasn’t surprised, really.

Mary smiled, running a finger along the Word of Joseph and delicately picking it up. “Uh, excuse me, this was actually my copy that you took. You should autograph it for me!”

“Why? You aren’t getting it back.”

She returned the book where she got it. “Why not? It’s mine! I stole it fair and square.”

Joseph scowled at her. Mary registered her words and sighed, walking back over to her chair and sitting down. “Alright, fine. Just doesn’t make sense why you need it. You should have it memorized by now.”

Joseph put the tea down in front of her. “Drink this. It will help.” He sat down across from her. “And I do have it memorized. I lived it, after all.”

“Then why do you need it?”

“Why do  _ you _ need it?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Joseph smirked. Mary picked up her cup and took a spiteful drink. Then made a face. “Gross! What is it?”

“Valerian root. It’ll help the stress.”

“Tastes like stinky feet. Smells like it, too. Are you one of those “I got a tea for that?””

“I would hardly think so. They aren’t my teas.”

Mary tapped her chin in thought. “But Dutch hated tea. Why are there so many different types of teas down here?”

Joseph sighed. “If you must know, the tea collection was for Mr. Roosevelt’s daughter-in-law.”

“How did you figure that out?”

The preacher closed his eyes. “Just drink your tea.”

Mary half-sputtered a sip as she suddenly got up, eyes widening and looking behind Joseph. “Oooh!”

She ran past Joseph and there was a small crash, some rummaging. The Father didn’t bother turning around, half not wanting to see what she was doing and wanting to strangle her and half not wanting to see her and wanting to do something much more natural.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She came back around and sat in her seat. She placed a deck of cards on the table. “Wanna play?”

“Play what?”

“Well, obviously not strip poker because you’re already half-naked and would win.”

Joseph glared from her joke but internally he responded with a not-so-pious picture that made him quiver. This woman was out to kill him...slowly. One cheeky teasing after another. Swallowing and grinding his teeth, he sat up straighter. He was about to decline, feeling his self-control evaporating into thin air. But another crack of thunder and Mary jumped, screwing her eyes shut.

He grabbed the deck of cards and took them from their package. This was a bad idea. But he couldn’t stand to see her being upset again.

Mary watched as he split the deck and shuffled the cards. She must have recognized the layout because she grinned.

“Speed, huh? Bring it on.”

They played a few rounds without hardly talking. Only the sound of slapping cards could be heard besides the occasional boom of thunder.

“Didn’t figure you for a card player, to be honest,” Mary said.

Joseph sighed, eyes watching the game. “Just because I’m religious doesn’t mean I’m ignorant to everything else.”

“Not what I meant,” she chuckled.

“Jacob and I used to play cards all the time growing up. He loved War and Rummy. John was too young back then, but after reconnecting with him later in life, he had a real knack for any kind of card game involving gambling.”

“He was great at poker, seriously.”

Joseph gawked at the Deputy. “You played with him? In the mix of...all that?”

She hesitated and then nodded, slapping her cards down with a small smile. “Ceasefire of sorts. Think he was trying to win me over a different way.”

“And you were open to it?”

Their game paused, forgotten, as Joseph intently awaited her answer and Mary mulled it over with some sort of depressed look on her face. Her free hand absently went to her chest, where the WRATH scar peeked out from her v-neck shirt.

“Well, maybe? I don’t know…me and John had a connection. We had a lot in common. Not really sure what it was…I guess we were both…broken. Mad at the world…mad at God…but mostly…mad at ourselves.”

His heart twisted and he squeezed the cards in his hands, thinking of his youngest brother. “I tried everything to protect him. I tried to get him to let it go…to try and love instead of hate. To try and empathize instead of lacking mercy. It just wasn’t enough.”

The Father saw the movement, felt it, but didn’t really register it as his thoughts were consumed with John, until a delicate hand came over his and squeezed. He looked up at the Deputy. She had leaned over the table to touch him. She looked beyond hurt, guilt and tears swimming in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to do it. I tried to…I tried to stop him in a different way. I’m sorry, Joseph.”

He put his other hand over hers and looked her straight in the eye. “John was a tormented soul. A monster, not born but created. You didn’t share that with him.”

Mary looked hurt but also a little relieved from his words. 

“I guess I was just the tiniest bit luckier than him. We both suffered emotional and psychological wounds that refused to heal properly. I could easily have ended up like him.”

She slowly pulled back. It took everything for Joseph not to squeeze her hand and keep her there. He watched her compose herself again, and he let her set up the next round of Speed.

“My sister Sarah…she was younger than me by two years. I know how it feels to want to protect your younger sibling. How it feels…when you completely fail at it.”

There it was. His first sign that his patience would soon be rewarded. Mary’s first crack that would break her down into becoming his Judge. And oh how he wanted to pick up the pieces. She would crumble. She would be put back together. She would confess and convert and be his. Reborn. Even if it took the entire seven years down here.

As much as Joseph wanted to urge her to talk about Sarah, he didn’t say anything. It would only make her close up right now. It might well take years to get her to come around, but Joseph had a strange feeling his life depended on her opening up to him sooner, rather than later.

Mary lingered after her words, watching Joseph, expecting him to become the Inquisitor. And she was surprised that he did not, merely nodding with an understanding, empathetic to her feelings, as he had known them deeply.

They hovered over their game, each waiting for the other to start first. Mary smacked the table, clearing her throat, catching Joseph’s attention.

“Hey, I know! Want me to read your fortune? I know a little cartomancy…just simple spreads anyway.”

Joseph cocked his head with a small smile. “Why, when God gives me all the answers?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you sounded way too conceited there. Besides, this is just for fun, cult-leader-that-listens-to-voices-in-his-head. Look, I’ll show you.”

The Deputy gathered up the deck of cards and started cutting and shuffling them. “I will just do a one card answer. My question is…Will Joseph and I end up killing each other down here?”

Joseph snorted but watched her pull a card out and show it to him. It was an Ace of Spades. Mary looked at it and thought it over.

“Well?” Joseph asked.

“Oh. Well, this means significant change is coming. So, we either are going to kill each other or we aren’t…I guess.”

“That’s very…informative.”

Mary smirked, slipping the card back onto the pile. “I didn’t say I was the best at this. Now you!” She slid the deck of cards over to him. “Cut and shuffle the deck like you saw me do. You don’t have to ask the question out loud, just to yourself. Draw the card and let me see it.”

Joseph half-shook his head, but decided to humor her. He cut and shuffled his deck a few times, and then drew a card. It was a Nine of Hearts. He showed it to Mary.

“Ohhh, interesting.”

“What?”

Mary had a teasing twinkle in her eye. “That card usually means dreams or desires coming true. Now, I’m curious what you asked.”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “The same thing as you basically.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay. One time, after some drinking at the Spread Eagle, I did a reading for Sharky. Basically, told him he would have good luck coming his way. Next day, he got two sodas out of the vending machine with one dollar. He was blown away. He said he didn’t ask for it, but was chosen by a higher power. From that time on, he wanted me to read his fortune for everything.” She sighed. “Man, I miss the moron…I miss all of them.”

Joseph only half listened, his mind wandering on the meaning of the card he drew, as absurd as it was. Mary looked up, waiting, listening, but there was no more thunder. All was quiet. All was normal. The Deputy studied him for a moment as Joseph stared at the card, rubbing the corner between his fingertips, lost in thought.

The preacher felt her eyes though, and met hers with his own gaze. He flicked the card onto the table, in between them. Mary followed the card for only a second before her eyes returned to him.

She slowly smiled. “Storm must be over. I guess…I’ll go back to bed. Thank you, Joseph…for letting me confide in you.”

Joseph nodded. “You need not to ask, Mary. I’m here.”

The Deputy slowly stood, almost hovering, as if trying to think of something to say or hesitant to leave. Joseph wanted to remain seated, but his integral manners wouldn’t allow it. He stood and walked her to the door, his hand just barely caressing her shoulders as he walked by.

He opened the door for her, waiting as she came a few steps later. He dug nails into the wood of the door, fighting the urge to lock her in here with him. Her smile was brief but grateful as her slim figure slipped by him and out, eluding his grasp, leaving him feeling utterly alone.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, and was gone.

Joseph shut the door, leaning his head against the frame and closing his eyes, taking in the last of her smell - and all he could think was how  _ badly  _ he wanted her. His blue eyes went to the card on the center of the table and, without realizing it, a smirk slowly formed.

 

* * *

The following day, things were mostly back to normal. Joseph continued his self-punishment, did his exercises and meditation, and only left his room if he had to. Mary sipped on coffee (Dutch had stocked up on plenty of that, thank every god in existence) and read mostly, having the occasional one-sided conversation with the fish.

Joseph was relieved of the Deputy’s quietness, even when he was in the same room. But he felt her eyes on him more. He knew the suspicious silence wouldn’t last. And to keep them from backtracking to square one, and to start luring Mary into opening up more like she did last night, Joseph would have to find a way to keep his desires in check, and fast.

They didn’t talk much, and the preacher returned to his room. To his surprise, the bunker remained quiet for the rest of the day. He wondered if Mary was still upset over her dream she had about her father, or if it was something else. She felt _ off _ today.

It was only after his shower later in the evening that he unfortunately found out why.

When he came into the den, she lifted her head from laying on the table, glaring daggers at him. She smacked her head back down with a soft  _ thud _ , grumbling something, a cup of tea sitting nearby on the tabletop. Joseph fixed himself some food and offered her a plate.

“Don’t talk to me,” Mary said in that stubborn, child-like tone she often used when she was mad.

“What’s the matter with you?” Joseph asked with a long-suffering sigh.

“Nothing.”

Joseph stared at her. “Are you not hungry?”

“No!” she snipped, and then sighed, mumbling much more quietly, “Maybe a little.”

“If you have something on your mind, get it off your chest. I’m right here.”

She groaned in irritation, lifting her head again. “If you  _ must _ know, I started my damn period. And I’m trying to be nice about it and not kill anybody - if it  _ can _ be avoided.”

He laughed at first, earning him a thunderous glower. But then it fully registered and The Father didn’t really like the idea anymore than her. She was hormonal and willing to have him pay for it. Her mood would be even more unpredictable than usual, and there was no telling what  _ that _ would do to his exhausted self-control.

“Well, good thing Mr. Roosevelt stocked up on feminine hygiene products then, right?”

The Deputy cringed, half-rolling her eyes. “Guess so.” Then mumbled something about him being a stupid man and not having to deal with it.

_ Yes, I do! Getting the full brunt of it, in fact... _

Joseph inwardly groaned, wanting to retreat to him room now more than ever. Despite his discomfort with the topic, he gently smiled her way. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She snorted, face hidden on the table, hair splayed around like a silky veil, little muffled chuckles bouncing off the wood. “No, I’m good.”

He really didn’t see what was so funny in his offer for help, but didn’t push it. Women were hard enough to read as it was, let alone going through menstruation.

“Perhaps you should lay down?”

Mary mocked him. “Perhaps you should lay down…ya think?” A short pause, followed by a resigned sigh. “Sorry...I’m a jerk when I’m in pain.”

“Would you like some ibuprofen?”

“…Yes, please,” she squeaked miserably.

Joseph shook his head and went to the infirmary for the drugs. He handed them to her and let her swallow them down with her nearby beverage. He lingered for a moment, watching her, before Mary slowly got up.

“God, I wish this place had a fucking bath tub,” she groaned, and left the den. “I need a good, long, hot soak.”

Joseph watched her retreat to her room, jaw clenched firmly from her words, not at all thankful for the mental picture. After eating, he decided to go back to his room to avoid her. Best to stay clear of her for the next few days - safer for everybody involved.

And so he did. The next two days dragged by excruciatingly slow, but the prophet holed up in his room, keeping his urges in check, focusing on scriptures and meditation, and most importantly, avoiding Mary and her mood swings.

Eventually it finally paid off as he felt the slowly building ache in his head that announced the impending arrival of another vision from the Voice. In front of the altar he remained, resolute, painfully focused, the world around him absent. Joseph wondered if he would get to resume the last vision where he was interrupted, or if God would finally give him more answers and hopefully forgive him for his unchecked libido.

The pain drew him in, pulled him into the prophecy unraveling in his head. And he opened his eyes...

The Father looked around, expecting the beautiful, reborn world, a chance to see more of what would come. But instead he was met with the same, familiar walls of the bunker. The only way he could tell it was a vision and not reality was the ache, the familiar dull thrum, and the whispering Voice just barely audible floating around him, incoherent at the moment.

He ambled through the concrete hallways, looking around. Nothing seemed really different, but he couldn’t put a finger on exactly how far in the future this was - it had to be at some point within the next seven years for sure. The only explanation for this vision was that he would be seeing a glimpse at Mary’s progression into his Judge.

And he was soon met with her voice, cursing, mumbling just down the next room. Joseph, on autopilot, stepped into the room, finding Mary digging through a closet, her back to him. She didn’t look much different to him from this angle, and so was still unable to determine the time frame.

Joseph tried to eavesdrop on her low grumbles as she rummaged the closet. As he got closer, he barely dodged a pair of pants flying for his face as the Deputy chucked them behind her with a huff.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked, evading another article of tossed clothing.

“Well, what do you think?!” she barked. “This is all  _ your _ fault. Why did I let you talk me into this?”

Mary turned around with a glare his way, one that would’ve made him take a step back had he not caught sight of her quite prominent belly. Joseph was stunned, downright dumbfounded, staring, all kinds of feelings ripping through his insides. And it finally all  _ clicked  _ together. It finally all made  _ sense _ .

“I have nothing to wear,” Mary huffed, folding her arms.

Joseph gently chuckled, taking her hands and pulling her into him. He tenderly kissed her forehead. “Darling, you’ll be fine. It’s not much longer.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to carry this baby. Or give birth without a doctor around…”

The trepidation in her eyes was hard to miss, hands retreating to her very pregnant belly. Joseph certainly knew her worry, shared it with her even. But he knew God’s plan, and he had to make sure she had faith. It would all turn out just fine…absolutely, wonderfully  _ perfect,  _ the way it was always meant to be.

Joseph laced his fingers with hers on her stomach, squeezing them firmly. And when he did, he felt the baby kick! The incredible feeling something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

“Listen to me, my love. I won’t let anything happen to you…or our children. We will make it out of here and build a new life above in the reborn world…in the New Eden. And I will destroy  _ anything _ that endangers that…God will see to that. There is nothing you have to fear.”

Mary was calmed by his reassurance, squeezing his hands back. Joseph put his forehead to hers and they closed their eyes. They stood like that until Joseph felt the pull that would take him back to the real world. But before it completely overtook him, he heard the familiar, low velvet cadence of the Voice reverberating around him.

_ “She gives back what she took away…” _

The Father’s eyes snapped open, and he groaned, wincing as sharp pain tearing through his skull. He pushed himself off his knees and rose to his feet. The preacher rubbed his temples, the ache pounding deep within.

He paced his room, thrilled, shocked, thoughts in a maelstrom as it all fell into place. Why didn’t he see the signs sooner? They were right under his nose the whole time! But Joseph had been in denial, too focused on Mary becoming the Judge,  _ his _ Judge. Part of his surrogate family and a follower. Not realizing she would  _ literally _ become his family by becoming his wife and the mother of his children.

God certainly had an odd sense of humor. Joseph and Mary. He had made the connection long ago, but never thought anything of it. But Evelyn, Mary’s middle name did catch his attention before. A diminutive form of  _ Eve _ …And then Samson…the Final Judge.

Now it was obvious from his daughter’s appearance, the familiar fire in her eyes.

His Judge. His wife. His children’s mother. And she would give back what she took from him…two sons and a daughter in place of his lost two brothers and sister.

Joseph was trembling, migraine forgotten, contemplating, taking it all in. His desires for her were justified all along. There was no need for him to feel guilty anymore. His body knew before his mind. He had ignored most of the signs until now, but now…now he was fully aware and understood. She would be his, all  _ his _ .

But now he had to work this carefully. Mary wasn’t ready; she was slowly opening up to him, but she still needed to confess and atone. She still needed to develop trust in him. Their lives depended on her coming around.

Knowing he would  _ truly  _ get to have her, that she would be his and he would be hers, seemed to rejuvenate his spirit, his patience, and even his self-control.

Joseph walked over to the table in his room, the deck of cards sitting in the same place. That telling Nine of Hearts was still face up in the center, shiny and unbent under the fluorescent lights. He picked up the card, studying it as though the simple, thick piece of rectangular paper was a godsend. Perhaps not truly, but it had obviously been another sign from the Voice.

All of the pain and sacrifice he had endured all of his life. All of the hard work and commitment he dedicated years of his life to. All the blood, sweat, and tears…He would finally be rewarded; with a new family - a new chance. Soon. God truly worked in mysterious ways...

The Father squeezed the card shut in his fist with a dark, pleased smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally, there's that reveal we've all been waiting for Joseph to see! xD The signs were all there, he was just not seeing them hehe.
> 
> Things are about to get a whole lot interesting so hang on to your butts! ;D
> 
> Thank you to my co-creator/beta Ravenprincess for the help! And I thank all readers following this story! Let us know what you think! <3 Have a good week!


	10. Testing the Waters

### Chapter 10: Testing the Waters

Mary sighed, flipping through one of the fishing magazines in boredom. She sat at the table in the den, a bowl full of canned peaches in front of her. She didn’t feel like cooking, hardly even felt like eating honestly. Third day on her cycle and she slowly waned off wanting to kill something towards just being depressed.

Joseph had avoided her like the plague. She didn’t blame him and would’ve avoided herself if she could. Still, the Deputy wondered if he would forever remain holed up in his room as he had been the past couple of weeks. Surely, God, or whoever he played telephone with, wasn’t giving him that many visions. There was still something else going on with him…

Mary actually enjoyed their talk the other day, despite the heartache over her father, John, and Sarah. And she was surprised that Joseph didn’t push her when she did admit something about her sister. She saw the understanding in his eyes. Whether his odd behavior was manipulation or not, Mary had felt a connection that night, and she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want to connect like that again. She’d almost be tempted to say...she liked it. Connecting with him. When he wasn’t being an ass, that is. 

He was slowly growing on her every time she turned her back on him, deluded cult leader and all. Maybe she had spent enough time down here that she was probably going crazy too. Maybe the loneliness was finally starting to eat at her, pushing her towards the only human being left that she could be with.

If she and Joseph were truly the last people alive in Hope County or elsewhere, and they only had each other for the rest of their lives, well, it was surely an ironic turn of events, but she was starting to accept it nonetheless. What other choice did she have? They were both being punished for their bad deeds after all. No better punishment than two mortal enemies having to put aside their differences to survive.

_“Just you…and me.”_

The Deputy choked on a slimy peach, putting her fork down and flipping through a few more pages hastily, cheeks burning. Yes, these fishing reels were really nice. She liked them a lot. Good for sturgeons and trout. And look at that. Thirty percent off bobbers. Nice.

Mary sighed again, ignoring the cramps, shoveling another soft piece of fruit into her mouth as she read, trying not to let her mind wander on her bunker mate and what he could be up to. More working out? Praying for her damned soul? Just being his ascetic self?

She read an interview about someone catching a seventy-pound paddlefish, chewing on a peach. That was nothing. She caught the Admiral, after all. And the over one-hundred-pound paddlefish almost broke her arm. Ah, good times.

“How are you feeling?”

The Deputy jumped, tiny squeak escaping her lips as instinct made her get her fork in a ready to stab position as Joseph appeared nearby. Goddamn she hated how quiet he was. One of these days, she was really going to put a fucking bell around his neck.

“Jesus, stop that. I’m fine. Can’t a girl eat in peace without getting a heart attack?”

The cult leader’s eyes hovered on her a bit longer and he smiled - no, _smirked! -_ and turned away. Her stomach flipped. What the hell was that about? She watched him start cooking something. His toned back full of scars and tattoos to her, muscles flexing as he moved quietly and gracefully like a cat.

“And you plan on eating just canned fruit?” he asked.

She glared at his back and took a bite of peach, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeffs, I durr.”

The Father sighed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Mary purposely ignored him and went back to her magazine. But each time she turned the page, her eyes went to him in the kitchen. This was odd. He had normally avoided cooking while she was around, being outside his room while she was outside hers. The Deputy couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or delighted. Yay contact, ugh having to deal with him. Stupid hormones, she guessed.

When Joseph joined her at the table, his plate smelled really good. She looked up from her magazine to the food on his plate. Seasoned rice with steamed veggies from the freezer and some leftover chicken that he had cooked yesterday. The chicken was good, she could attest to that since she stole some of it earlier. And water to drink. Typical picky-eating, healthy Joseph.

She tried to ignore the yummy smell and bit sassily into a cold, gloopy peach, glaring at him. But soon her glare faltered. Joseph kept her gaze, idly rubbing his long fingers through his beard as he waited for his food to cool. There was something…darker about his gaze as he watched her.

The Deputy slowly chewed her canned fruit and swallowed. Her inner stubbornness wanted to keep glaring at him, but she just couldn’t do it. Something was off. Her eyes darted around the room and she ended up giving him an awkward smile before sticking her nose back into the fishing magazine.

But she felt his eyes on her. Almost like a predator watching its prey, and she shivered. When she looked back up at him, he hadn’t moved and was still staring at her. Mary glared at him.

“Whaaaaat? I didn’t do it…this time.”

The corners of his lips quirked, but not much else. She couldn’t stand the intensity of those deep blue eyes. What kind of mind control was he trying to do on her _now_ ? Was he mocking her? She just wanted to eat her peaches in peace, read about old men catching fish, and not have him eyeing her like _she_ was on the menu.

“Seriously, I will stab you with this fork. What?”

“You should eat better,” Joseph stated.

Mary furrowed her brows, looking down at her bowl of canned fruit. Why in the apocalyptic world did he care what she ate? “Why, what’s wrong with my food? My peaches are fine!”

Joseph slightly cocked his head, an amused smile broadening. Her heart quickened. “Can you even cook, Mary?”

She snorted, stabbing a poor, unsuspecting peach in the back and stuffing it in her mouth. “Cerfse eh fen!” The Deputy chewed the fruit with a frustrated tick in her jaw, swallowed and then added as an afterthought “...if it fits into a toaster, I can cook it.”

His glare at her eating manners relieved her, but it only lasted for a moment before he shook his head in resignation. The Father closed his eyes, said grace, and started eating. She frowned. And then it suddenly hit her. He was eating out here with her. As in, not retreating to his room.

“What’s this, a new trick?”

Joseph looked up at her curiously. “What?”

“Why are you out here? You’ve been locking yourself away for days.”

Joseph kind of bobbed his head around, thinking of an answer. “God showed me what I needed to see finally. I no longer should be distracted.”

Mary wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Did He now...and what exactly did He show you?”

“The future.”

She didn’t know what her face looked like, but Mary attributed it to eating something sour. “Right. I figured as much. Care to be a little bit more specific? Was it…anything good?”

The mysterious smirk Joseph gave made her spine freeze up, his eyes taking in her figure, and he whispered, “Perfect…”

_Ooookay. Not sure if serious or pulling my leg here._

The Deputy squinted at him, not sure what to make of his vague reply. His expression gave nothing away.

She didn’t know how to answer _that_ either. Never before had her wit been deflated so fast, all because of The Father’s predatory eyes and that same smug smile she awoke to on her first day stuck in this bunker. And, for whatever reason, it really messed with her insides. Mary blamed it on her hormones. She was totally off her groove.

Mary zeroed in on her magazine with laser-like focus. She was getting seriously uncomfortable under his sharp scrutiny. Which meant she could start rambling at any given moment. But old ass rich men and their tips on boating was too dull to capture her mind. She couldn’t concentrate. His intensity almost made her feel his looks like a soft, caressing touch upon her skin and it made her skin crawl...because reasons. 

Was this supposed to feel so electrically charged? Any more of that tension and there’d be sparks coming out of her ears...

Joseph still watched her while he ate quietly, deep in thought. Mary ignored him best she could as her mind went a million miles an hour trying to figure out what he was up to. What in the world caught his interest that had him acting even weirder than usual? She was starting to miss reclusive Joseph already.

Oh god, what if her card reading was coming true? What if Joseph was plotting to kill her? Maybe he had received a vision that he should kill her for what she did to him, his family, and the Project. Maybe the cult leader had decided she wasn’t going to confess anything worth his time. That she would forever remain unwilling to convert, therefore there was no reason to keep her around…

_No way…no one can survive down here that long all alone…_

Although Dutch would’ve begged to differ.

But the Deputy recalled Joseph’s sympathy and concern for her the other night, that moment they shared that opened something up deep within her. Joseph may have wanted to manipulate her a certain way, use her even, but Mary also knew his personal complexities well enough to know that he cared for her on some level, empathized with her, and was willing to put aside their differences so they could live peacefully down here. And to do that for someone who killed your family and destroyed everything you worked your whole life for…well that said a lot. It _showed_ a lot. She couldn’t do that with the person who destroyed her family.

Joseph Seed was insane, but there was no denying that he was honorable. In a delusional, misguided sort of way…almost endearing. Almost.

But that was enough to tell Mary that Joseph’s sudden change in behavior and watchful eye on her had nothing to do with killing her.

_You’re overthinking it, Mary. He’s probably just getting revenge for you being difficult this whole time while he knows you’re down for the count…_

Payback! That’s what it was…All of her tempers, sarcasm, cheekiness, testing his patience nonstop, and generally just being exasperating for weeks on end came down to this. Karma. Mary on her period, cramping, moody, and Joseph taking advantage of it to get revenge. What an asshole. She would applaud him if she didn’t want to stab him with her fork.

_Alright…you wanna play? I’m game…_

Nonchalantly, without looking up, flipping a page in her fishing magazine, Mary asked, “Enjoying the view?”

Best way to deflect her unease was to make Joseph uncomfortable by making it obvious he was staring at her. That would certainly have him retreat to his room. _Take that, jerk! I’m onto you..._ She snickered internally.

“Yes, actually.”

Her head whipped up; green eyes wide like a startled animal. She gave herself whiplash, gawking at him. “Come again?”

Mary had just praised John and his talent at poker, but Joseph was giving her quite the poker face now. She could not read him at all, and it fucking rattled her.

“I said ‘yes, actually’.”

Her heart tripped and ping-ponged around in her rib cage. Her brain strained to come up with another comeback.

Mary glared at him. “Then take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

A twitch of his lips within his dark beard was all she got. He slowly pushed his empty plate to the side and leaned back in his chair. There was that proud king, prowling out of the shadows. It had been awhile. Her lower belly tingled.

“I won’t need it.”

_What the fuck does that mean? Alright, you asked for it…_

Mary snorted, batting her eyes with a smile. “You want a kiss and a hug for posterity, too?”

“Why...you offering?”

The Deputy’s resolve cracked, sweating a little. _Abort, abort, he isn’t backing down!…_

Her face fell, and she was suddenly really hot. Her face felt afire, and yet her remaining crumbs of stubbornness were just enough to glare at him in frustration. His smile was innocent with a hint of arrogance.

“You want to get stabbed with a fork? Because this is a good way to get stabbed with a fork.”

“So quick with that temper. I often think John was mistaken making your sin Wrath as you carry a lot of Pride, but then I’m soon reminded again how he couldn’t be more right.”

 _Umm, hello,_ **_you’re_ ** _the one with all the Pride down here Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-personal-space, and it’s running rampant today…maybe you didn’t get the memo._

Mary had a bunch of different emotions jolting through her, and she was on the verge of flight, but her fighting mechanism kept kicking. She would either stab The Father with her fork in a place where the sun never shone, or start rambling random facts about angling. She couldn’t be so sure which one would win out in the end.

She shrugged, barely holding herself together. “Well, getting stared at by a creepy cult leader is a good way to evoke my Wrath, especially when I’m hormonal.”

Joseph slowly got up. “I can fix that.”

The flight mechanism sprung in her head like a mouse trap. Mary was up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair. “Wh-What?!”

The Father raised an eyebrow and motioned for the door. “The infirmary. I’ll unlock the medicine cabinet so you can get more painkillers. Don’t think I should have to worry about you overdosing, yes?”

Mary blinked, breathing hard, barely shaking her head. “R-Right.”

Joseph left the den with an amused, slightly conceited grin. Mary slowly sat back down, second guessing herself. Was she really that paranoid after Joseph was clearly just being a dick for his own amusement? She looked over at her trustworthy fish friends for input, but they were clearly distracted with swimming. Or counting bubbles. 

Did fish count bubbles to fall asleep? Well they had to be counting _something,_ right?

She shook her head, trying to snap out of it. Not long after her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, Joseph came back into the den, handing her some pills. She thanked him and took them with her water.

Joseph’s fingers lightly, gingerly curled over her shoulders. Mary jerked in her seat and then froze with shock, her body tensing. She almost choked on a lump in her throat as she swallowed. He massaged her shoulders, kneading gently. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to jump out of her skin or melt and stick to his fingers forever.

“You’ve told me that I am always tense and need to unwind,” Joseph leaned down and whispered. “And yet, here you are, worse off than me.”

_Gee, I wonder why...that’s because of you, asshole!_

Her usual determination betrayed her though: Mary just couldn’t bring herself to grab her fork and stab him. Her body was enjoying it. The rubbing grew slightly bolder and slowly trailed up her neck, under her hair. She bit her lip, mind reeling and coming up with nothing. Her body was on fire wherever she felt his touch, tingling and burning, stomach doing a bungee jump all the way down to the floor and back, and her irritation and fight seemed to fizzle out to nothing.

Joseph’s hands weren’t as calloused as Jacob’s nor were they as soft as John’s, but they squeezed and rubbed just the right way, as if engraving a coded message into her body to make it react to him and plot against her in unexpected ways.

The Deputy had just enough control left that she was able to jump up as his hands started caressing south, sprouting goosebumps. She whirled on him, and she wasn’t sure if Joseph thought she would attack him because his hands came up to appease her. Mary wasn’t going to attack, her body still thrumming, but she sure wanted to punch something.

Instead, a nervous ramble spilled from her lips. “Did you know that some fish species can’t burp when they are pulled from the deep water? So, it keeps their swim bladders expanded and that’s why they have trouble descending if released back into the water. They’re too buoyant.”

“Is that…so?”

She nodded wildly.

Joseph looked delighted and amused by her reaction, but he didn’t push his luck. He grabbed up his dishes to wash them in the sink. Mary just about collapsed in relief. She wanted to hightail it to her room but she was here first. She wouldn’t let Joseph run her off so easily.

“You alright, Mary?”

She looked up at Joseph. He leaned on the counter in the kitchen. His poker face was back, his head tilted to the side, and she couldn’t read him again. Even his pride was back in check. What was the preacher up to? She was so confused and not as angry as she wanted to be.

She picked up her bowl of canned peaches and smiled nervously. “Just…peachy.”

It was only after she had hurriedly left (not fled!) the scene to count through her precious few remaining pairs of clean socks (important to know in case of cold feet emergencies!) that she realized that Joseph never replied to her question about his newfound interest in eating together…

 

* * *

 

Watching the Deputy lose her nerve and flee the scene with a bowl of half-eaten canned peaches entertained and satisfied him more than it should have. Joseph contemplated over what had happened, alone in the kitchen, and he wasn’t disappointed - far from it.

He was merely testing the waters, curious to see how Mary would react in such a way to him. He needed insight on how to get her to warm up to him. Woo her, so to speak. And honestly, he was prepared for a fork stabbing over what did happen. She reacted to him in a far more… _positive_ way than expected.

It would make sense. God obviously chose for them to be together, and so their attraction to each other would be natural, even if she still needed time. But Mary, as always, would be stubborn and difficult and fight him every step of the way. Hard to get, but Joseph had never shied away from a challenge. The best rewards were earned through hard work and perseverance, after all.

This would require meticulous planning and a lot of patience. Luckily, Joseph was more than adept at both. His future wife was flighty and belligerent. Wooing a grizzly bear would be easier, less dangerous - and a lot less of a strain on his self-control.

He didn’t know how long it would take, but he would get her eventually.

The Father pushed away from leaning on the counter and walked over to the faintly humming aquarium. The different species of fish swam about, ignorant and simple-minded. The Deputy took care of them with a nurturing nature she hid underneath sassiness and attitude.

_Fighter and Nurturer._

He recalled their conversation early in the week when cleaning the fish tank, when he had still been ignorant of her true purpose. She had mentioned that if she wasn’t fighting for someone or something that she had to take care of something or she’d go crazy. And that it had always been that way.

Joseph smiled softly, running his fingers over the top of the tank’s lid, feeling the warmth from the humming filter and left for his room. Mary was equal parts gentle and protective, compassionate and bold. She would be a great mother.

And so, he went to bed that night not only strategizing the dangerous pursuit for the Deputy’s heart, but also thought about the future, and exactly what God could have planned for his new family.

 

* * *

 

Mary yawned, blinking her eyes hard once to try and jump-start them again. She flipped through the sheets of paper on the clipboard, silently complaining about Dutch’s chicken scratch. The large food pantry below the main floor of the bunker stored most of the dry and canned foods. And there was _a lot_. Next door was the walk-in freezer room. The same floor also held the incinerator, power controls and regulation for the bunker, and more storage.

Dutch had been painstakingly organized and thorough. That didn’t mean she and Joseph didn’t need to be careful about their resources though - unforeseen things could always happen and screw with your best laid plans.

While Joseph had been locked away in his room the past week, praying for stuff to happen and waiting for some enlightening visions or more prophecies to be fulfilled, she had taken the time to go through the inventory and prepare how they would use their resources in the best possible way. If they were going to survive down here, it was a necessity.

If The Father was done being a dick like yesterday when he was being weirdly social and touching her for no apparent reason, and if he’d come down off his high horse from having tea parties with God, then maybe he would thank her for her hard work.

_Don’t hold your breath, Mary…_

The Deputy was still confused over exactly what Joseph’s aim was. Being an asshole, getting revenge while she was feeling like shit, sure, she could understand that. Mary had more than pushed her luck with him and she deserved a nice kick in the rump called karma. But there was something else.

 _There’s_ **_always_ ** _something else with him…_

But Mary would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t enjoy that massage. She thought about it all night and the effects it had on her until she fell asleep. Was she seriously already losing her mind down here? It’d only been just over two months since the bombs fell. How weak was that? Jacob would shake his head at her.

But Joseph’s hands! He did something with them...something illegal. Her cheeks burned. Fucking hormones. Yeah, that was it. She scribbled a note down a little too violently and nearly broke her pencil.

_You are losing your shit. Joseph Seed? Seriously? The guy’s a manipulative zealot that exploited violence for his beliefs. Remember your friends? His equally crazy siblings that kidnapped and tortured you? Not to mention, Joseph’s what – fifteen, sixteen years older than you?_

She sighed. Her inner conscience was right. Better not open _that_ can of worms. It was just her hormones, that was all. She was most definitely not attracted to him in any way outside that. Even with his handsome looks and tattooed, scarred, muscular body. Nope. Hormonal and lonely was _not_ a good mix. Jesus.

Growling, she erased something a bit too passionately. Mary blew the eraser shavings away and tried to focus. She’d never get this done if she kept thinking about her keeper in such distracting and inappropriate ways!

_Not like you have anything else to do down here…there’s only so many times you can feed the fish before they end up looking like blowfish!_

The Deputy scoffed and flipped another page, when she heard the storeroom’s door open. She internally groaned. Unless it was Dutch’s ghost coming to haunt her, there was only one person it could be.

She didn’t look up as she jotted inventory. Beans. So many beans. And rice. “What’s up, Hipster Jesus?”

“Must you call me that?”

“Yes. Yes, I must.”

“I’ve respected your wishes to call you by your name,” Joseph said. “Surely, you can do the same for me?”

She finally looked up at him. She hated how tall he was, always having to crane her neck. “But it’s a term of endearment!”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “What are you doing down here?”

“Uh, inventory? You know, what we talked about doing before you started locking yourself away for days on end?”

Mary shoved the clipboard into his always bare, always toned chest. He took it and started flipping through the pages, eyes flashing as he recalled their plans. “Oh, yes. You’ve been doing it this whole time?”

“Yep.”

Joseph took a moment, reading through a page, eyes scanning. “Impressive, you’re just as organized as Mr. Roosevelt.”

Mary crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?! Do I not seem like an organized person or something?”

Joseph looked at her, opening his mouth, slightly smiling, but the Deputy cut him off.

“Don’t answer that!” and yanked her clipboard from his grasp, their fingers brushing.

Mary ignored the electric shock that surged through her limbs from the contact. She moved an extra three feet away from him just to be safe and didn’t care how weird that had to look for anybody else. His eyes were resting on her again, she could downright _feel_ them, and it took her a moment to recover.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. God isn’t going to count this for us, ya know.”

Joseph’s tiny half-smirk didn’t go unnoticed, and he walked over to a table where she had more of Dutch’s inventory spreadsheets and notes.

“I’ll help.”

Mary gawked at his back. _Are you serious?!_ He really wasn’t going back to locking himself into his room? So it wasn’t all talk then...she would have to actually start interacting with him. _Oh Gawd. Why now?_ The part of her that was lonely and starved for human interaction after all this time made her heart nearly implode. At least, she thought it was that. The rest of her was in panic mode.

Her card reading on herself _did_ say big changes were coming. Somehow, Mary had a gut feeling it meant more than this though.

 _We’re so gonna kill each other,_ her inner voice groaned.

The Deputy quickly thought of an excuse. “No! I got this. I have a very particular system. You’ll just screw it up.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow at her, looking unconvinced. “Is that so?”

“Yes!”

“The Deputy…who destroyed most of Hope County by _improvising_ …has a system?”

She glared at him. “I’m multi-talented like that.”

His smile was amused as he approached her with his own clipboard and spreadsheets. “And what is this system, exactly?”

She automatically backed up two steps, hating his lack of respect for personal space, despite the fact it made her heart do crazy breakneck stunts that made Clutch Nixon look like a wimp. Plus, she didn’t want his hands within reach of her. Safer that way, for everybody involved.

The Deputy sighed, vexed. “Ugh, fine. I haven’t done the other storage room with all the non-food supplies yet. Medical, hygiene, cleaning, all that stuff. Make sure the inventory matches Dutch’s notes, change what’s needed, and bring it back to me. I’ll put it with my stuff, see if I can go through Dutch’s instructions on how we can manage this out the best way.”

“I will get it done.”

“Good, thanks. We have plenty of food down here, but if we aren’t careful so much of it will go to waste. We need to plan accordingly.”

Joseph cleared his throat, a ghost of a smile forming within his beard as he threw her one last unreadable look and turned. “Oh don’t worry, it won’t be wasted…”

The Father grabbed Dutch’s printed inventory for the other storeroom and left without another word. Mary squinted and scratched her head, confused. 

_Back to being mysterious Captain Weirdo, I guess?...didn’t take him long._

It took her a minute to relax. As long as they remained separated, things should go smoothly. No killing each other or other perturbing thoughts that could enter her brain.

She shimmied to the right to start on the next rack of non-perishable food items in the storeroom. Her eyes immediately landed on several large tubs of coconut oil. A lopsided grin broke out. She hid her face behind her clipboard and giggled, instantly recalling Adelaide Drubman, Hurk’s saucy, extrovert mum. Never again would she be able to look at a jar of coconut oil with innocent eyes without recalling the helicopter queen’s advice on how it was the best lube around - and organic to boot, what’s _not_ to love? - for any kind of sexual encounter. If anyone would have to know, it _would_ be adventurous Addie; after all, she always seemed to be in the middle of making use of her generous supply whenever the Deputy radioed in for air transportation. She had proudly announced to have bought a huge stash of it just in time when the Peggies went crazy. Mary always wondered how poor Xander survived her ravenous appetite. Had to be all those yoga sessions that made him so...patient and durable.

_Hope Dutch didn’t get these off Addie…_

The whole Drubman clan had given Mary terrible, hilarious, and always questionable advice that usually left her either blushing or cringing, but hell if they weren’t ever loyal. And fun. God, she missed them. She hoped they were at peace, wherever they were. Hopefully in some sort of heaven with never ending supply of booze, oregano, coconut oil, partying, and housebroken monkey gods.

The Deputy gave a little depressed sigh and got back to work. There was still so much left to count, and her eyes were getting tired.

It was only after Mary had spent half of the day in her own storeroom opposite of Joseph that she realized she had had the perfect opportunity to stuff him in the walk-in freezer and she _didn’t_.

_I really am slipping! Golden opportunity there to make him freeze his ass off and put on some clothes but nooooo. Losing your touch, Mary…_

She grumbled low, inaudible curses, internally banging her head against the wall as she slipped into the walk-in freezer to get started. Her brain hurt from so much counting, but she really just wanted to get it over with. Once the counting and verifying was done, they could work on planning out their resource usage.

About an hour in on counting the inventory in the giant walk-in freezer, Mary was joined by Joseph. She told him to count one side while she counted the other without looking up at him.

She shivered as she jotted down notes, trying to keep her teeth from clattering. Frozen meats, fruits, veggies…she would never understand how Dutch was able to accomplish this impressive feat, preparing his whole family for the end of the world. Whatever fate had decided for her to end up in Dutch’s bunker when the end came, she could never thank him enough…or say _I’m sorry_ enough.

“Are you _that_ cold?”

Mary couldn’t stand the cold. Growing up in Florida, just the mildest winter made her want to curl up and hibernate somewhere cozy. Foolish of her to want to move to her father’s birth state to live where he grew up; sub-zero temperatures, and _so much_ snow! Not only was she unprepared for the winter that her friends kept telling her about, she was also severely unprepared for the doomsday cult there, too. Thanks Dad.

“I’m a w-wimp when it comes to the c-cold, okay?” she grumbled, and looked over at him. She had to take a double-take because _holy fucking cow_ Joseph Seed was wearing a shirt. And his hair was down. “Holy shit, you’re wearing a shirt!”

Joseph glanced down at his new attire, a faded green shirt that was a size or two big on him, probably one of Dutch’s old t-shirts. “I knew I would be here helping you count so of course I put something on.”

“Hell might’ve just fro-frozen over, not gonna l-lie.”

Joseph glared at her. “And look at you. Shivering like a wet rat. It really isn’t that cold in here.”

“It is to m-me! I’m from Florida for c-crying out loud!”

Joseph looked amused again. “Then why move to Montana?”

“I didn’t think it through…plus my fa-father grew up here. I guess I just wanted to see what he saw growing up. Though I imagine there was a lot less c-cults and idiots with guns back then. Well…cults anyway.”

The preacher’s gaze softened and he nodded. “It took me a couple of years to get used to the winters here from living in Georgia. But I’ve always liked the cold.”

“I’d never have guessed h-how you like to p-parade around half-naked. John told me he loved the cold. He preferred it.”

Joseph’s mild glare only lasted a few seconds until she mentioned John. He nodded. “He did. Jacob didn’t. He would never show it or tell anyone, but he hated the cold.”

Mary squeezed her fingers, trying to get some blood flow moving, trembling. Their breaths came out in little white puffs in the dim-lit, square freezer. She smiled a little and turned back to the shelf she was working on.

“Well, Jacob and I f-finally have something we can agree on t-then.”

“If you’re that cold, perhaps you should take a break and warm up or let me take over? You risk catching a chill.”

She was surprised he cared. “I’m f-fine. I just want to get this d-done.”

Joseph sighed. “Stubborn woman.”

The Deputy was unfazed, she had only heard him say that under his breath like a million times. She ignored him and continued counting, trying to focus. The cold and her shivering made it hard to count and write. But this close to being done and she didn’t want to stop now.

She heard Joseph leave the freezer. The heavy metal door creaked on its hinges and then pulled shut again. The Deputy half-rolled her eyes, not worrying about him and flipped through to another sheet. As accurate and detailed Dutch’s inventory was, Mary started to wonder if Dutch ever left the bunker at all.

_He had to get this stuff somehow! He had to leave sometimes...right?_

Mary heard the freezer door open and close again. Joseph must’ve stepped out to warm up. The more she stood there trembling like an idiot, the more she really wanted to step out and do the same.

_Don’t be such a chicken, you’re almost done! Just a little bit longer..._

The Deputy halted and frowned.

_Chicken, my ass. Frozen chicken, if your chattering teeth are anything to go by!_

She snorted. Sometimes even _she_ hated how stubborn she was. 

Suddenly, something soft and heavy was draped over her shoulders, and she gasped, looking up. Joseph fixed the small blanket so it swaddled around her. It was one of the small, plush blankets from the storeroom across the hallway.

Mary froze as he did so, the blanket shielding her from the cold, but she now shivered twice as much. She could feel Joseph’s body heat even through the miracle t-shirt he wore, and for how close he was, she was glad he was wearing it.

“T-Thank you.”

Joseph slowly glided his fingers down the edges of the blanket where it draped down her shoulders and chest, stopping, lingering, the heat from them felt on her collarbone and breasts before he pulled them away. Even though they were still standing in the freezer, she suddenly felt very hot under her collar.

“You’re welcome. Hope this helps. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts over your chattering teeth.”

If Mary was smart, she would have stayed quiet. There was obviously some kind of tension building between them and opening her mouth was only going to make it worse. But Joseph’s sarcastic quip made her mouth counter involuntarily.

“If my teeth are too noisy, then maybe you should think louder.”

There was that minuscule leer again, the one that made her heart leap up her throat and sucker punch her in the face.

“Would you really like to hear my thoughts?” he whispered, his eyes searching her face.

 _Don’t you fucking do it, Mary…don’t you wake that sleeping dog!_ Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Yeah, sure...why not?” she blurted despite her wariness.

_You idiot…you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut! I’m so gonna regret this..._

"I was just thinking of useful ways to spend our rations...so they won't go to waste," Joseph hinted lowly, eyes never leaving hers.

He made it sound so innocent, but _oh boy_ did her brain flip it an entirely different way. Why was she suddenly so very hot in this freezer? The little plush blanket now felt like a heavy, down-filled duvet.

Again, Mary backed away from him, her back bumping into a rack of frozen venison and beef. “Well, don’t get too creative!” she barked anxiously. “The incinerator can deal with what we can’t finish before spoiling, but that means you can’t be picky, Joseph!”

Joseph looked satisfied, and she had no idea why, like he was successful at being an asshole again and riling her up for no reason. Why was he into that suddenly? _What a dick!_ But soon he slightly cocked his head to the side.

“Picky?”

_Yes! Crisis averted…he fell for it!_

“Yeah! For someone who’s grown up in poverty like me, you’re a picky eater!”

“And you aren’t?”

“Nope!”

“Yes, you are. I’ve only seen you eat a select few foods on your own that I haven’t forced down your throat myself.”

She glared at him. “I’m not picky, I just don’t cook. There’s a difference!”

“Don’t cook or can’t cook?” Joseph reflected with a playful smile.

_Way to have my own tactic turned around on me…touché Hipster Jesus…_

The Deputy sighed. “I _can_ cook…I’m just…not good at it.”

The cult leader tapped the clipboard he was holding against his hip. “I can teach you.”

The picture conjured up in her head made her both blush and snort out loud. “Ah, no thanks. I’m fine.”

Mary instinctively turned away, bringing up her clipboard to get back to work. She needed to get out of this freezer, and fast. They were almost done. But Joseph’s hand, so large compared to hers, gently came down on her paper and pushed the clipboard away from her face. She looked up at him, freezing like a deer in headlights because she was cold, she was hot, and her brain just kept misfiring. Her flight instinct screeched at her to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. She was glued to the spot under his intense gaze.

The Father leaned in. “Listen, Mary. It would be best. We need to save resources. We have to plan out our rations and save time and messes doing so.”

“Time?” she grumbled. “We’ve got nothing _but_ time down here!”

“But we are limited on our perishables.”

Mary inwardly groaned. He was so right, but she didn’t want to accept it.

“We need to start sharing responsibilities anyway. And you…well, you need to eat better.”

 _There he goes again with me eating better. What’s up with that anyway? Why does he care?_ Mary looked down at her body. She was still slim and athletic, although she had lost some muscle from her sudden change of lifestyle in this bunker, but she was far from unhealthy or malnourished.

She should have kept her big, fat mouth closed. With a defeated sigh, she nodded. “Okay.”

Mary didn’t look at Joseph, but could feel his eyes on her, felt the charm they tried to cast on her. Joseph slowly retracted his hand off of her clipboard, his fingers tickling across her hand and making her nerves fire.

“Good. We’ll start tomorrow.”

Looked like her reprieve was coming to an end...soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now the fun begins! Let's see how well Joseph can woo this sassy Deputy! xD Also, sorry that Joseph's POV section is so short in this chapter. Hopefully next chapter I will make it up :3
> 
> As always, thanks to my co-creator and beta-reader Ravenprincess for the help with this chapter! :3 You're awesome, always, always awesome! <3 Thank you to everyone following this story, it means so much to us! If you like the story hit that kudos button or let us know what you think!
> 
> For those also following Reap What You Sow (my JohnxFemDep multi-chapter story) thank you as well, and a new chapter is being worked on currently! <3
> 
> I hope everyone has a great Labor Day weekend! :D


	11. Something's Brewing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the wait on this chapter! I hope we've made up for it with it being extra long! :3 Enjoy!

### Chapter 11: Something’s Brewing

It was a tedious process, but it was finally over. Their inventory count paid off and they were able to start fresh on how they would use their resources over the next seven years. 

_ Oh gawd, so much toilet paper... _

Just counting the rolls alone had taken half a day and given her nightmares for days, what with her constantly messing up and having to start counting all over again until she felt a nervous twitch in her left eye. 

The task had been about as dull as it had been annoying. Mary wanted to bang her head now that it was over, too many numbers, too much counting, and too much writing. Not to mention, thinking of all the years of eating military rations once the frozen, canned, and dry food were all gone. The Deputy grimaced just thinking about it.

“Achoo!”

Oh, Mary also apparently got sick from freezing her ass off in the walk-in freezer counting inventory. She imagined the stress, her waning period, and touching so many different items in her counting probably lowered her immune system enough that standing so long in the freezer just opened the door for something to hit her, despite the warmth that Joseph’s blanket had provided her with.

_ Nope, not sick. It’s allergies! _

There were no live plants down here and it was December, but still.

Her second sneeze was louder, startling the fish as she fed them. She cursed under her breath with a prominent snuffle. It took her pets a little longer to race to the surface to start swallowing the floating fish chips, and the Deputy sighed.

“Come on guys, it was one little sneeze. Not gonna eat ya. I doubt that could scare you after having to listen to Dutch’s snoring all the time.”

As she turned away from the fish tank, her aching head suddenly spun and she took a couple of stumbling steps to catch her balance. She went over to the couch and sat down, groaning and sniffling. She reached out towards the coffee table and snatched up one of the  _ thousands  _ of toilet paper rolls to blow her nose.

Mary stayed there awhile, resting her watery eyes, trying to clear the constant tickling burn of her throat without coughing.

She opened them to the sound of clanging cabinets in the kitchen and narrowed her eyes at Joseph’s tattooed back as he shifted through the kitchen for something.

_ Oh god. Not Mr. I-Told-You-So. Act cool, Mary. It’s just allergies. _

The Deputy fought the urge to sneeze and ended up doing some horrible alien sound that was part snort, part sneeze, and part groan. She sat up straighter and blew her nose again. And lo and behold, the cult leader caught the sound, looking at her curiously from the kitchen, pausing in mid-pour of his morning coffee (that she had made, coffee was an essential necessity in her life so she knew how to make that real well. Sometimes it had been the only buffer between her and murder). Mary saw the shift in his eyebrows, knew him well enough to know that he was piqued, and inwardly groaned.

Joseph quietly walked over to her, steaming mug in hand, and sat down in the recliner near the fish tank, taking in her disheveled appearance. She fidgeted under his gaze, resisting the need to sniff. But her runny nose continued to ooze, and she didn’t want to show off a deluge of snot. She sniffed loudly, and pressed another clump of toilet paper to her nose.

The way Joseph smiled, so faint but amused, as he figured out what was wrong with her caught her off guard, made her heart do some weird loopy-loop. Outwardly, she almost hissed at him like a cat that had its tail caught in the door.

“Don’t you dare fucking say it.”

“I-”

“Joseph!”

He paused a moment, hung on how his name was squeaked from her mouth, and then smugly added, “Told you so.”

“Damn it, I’m not sick! It’s...allergies!”

The preacher sighed, a faint trace of amusement in his face as he leaned back in the recliner and enjoyed a sip of his coffee. “Allergies?”

“Yes.”

“In an underground bunker?”

“Yes!” Soon after a sneezing fit overcame her. “Godda-” she halted at his glare and grumbled. “Fiddlesticks!”

Joseph stood and placed his coffee on the table. He came around to her. Mary leaned back deeper into the couch, hoping it would swallow her up as Joseph bent and reached for her face. She braced, but felt only his cooling, soft hand upon her forehead. He held his hand there for a moment, feeling, and traced his fingers delicately across her cheeks and temples next.

“You’re running a fever.”

“No, I’m not!” Mary’s voice rang a bit higher-pitched than intended, flabbergasted by how _nice_ and cool his hand felt on her skin.

Joseph shook his head. “Look where your obstinance has gotten you. Sickness down here can be serious. We need to take the right measures for this. And fast.”

“But I’m fine!” the Deputy insisted. The look Joseph gave her made her suddenly feel she was arguing with her mother.

“This isn’t up for debate,” The Father replied. “Just rest. I will take care of you.”

Mary didn’t have a chance to argue further. The cult leader left the den, likely making his way to the infirmary. She rolled her eyes. Her defiant nature reacted to his command with the urge to do anything but rest. If only to strain Joseph’s patience even further, which she enjoyed with impish glee.

He returned later after she had begrudgingly stayed where she was to read her book. He went to the kitchen, poured her a glass of water and returned to her side. He handed her the glass and a couple of pills. “Vitamins and cold medicine. Take them.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will get them down your throat one way or another, Mary. Doesn’t matter to me how. The choice is yours.”

She held his gaze for a moment, contemplating the seriousness of his tone. And she soon remembered the cult leader was quite capable of that and worse, and so heaved an aggravated sigh.

“Fine! Fuckin’ mother hen,” she muttered, and popped the pills and washed them down. “There! Happy now?”

He rewarded her with another smile that did make her feel sick in a funny way. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I’ll make you some soup.”

As he went into the kitchen, Mary called at his back with a chuckle and another loud sniffle. “You’re overreacting, Hipster Jesus. I’ll be better by tomorrow. Just you wait.”

She didn’t see Joseph’s smirk, but she heard it in his tone. “I’ve been waiting a long time on many things, Mary. I’m done waiting for most.”

_ Not sure what he means by that, but whatever. I’ll be better tomorrow, for sure! _

And she did not, in fact, get better by tomorrow.

Fuming on the couch with two blankets, a cool, damp washcloth on her forehead, Mary blew her nose for the upteenth time in the hour. And all she got for her destroyed wishful thinking was The Father’s trademark headshake of disappointment.

“I thought you said you would be better? What happened? Change your mind?” he teased.

“Shush it, Flanders.”

Joseph handed her a hot mug of peppermint tea. The warm, minty aroma wafted up her runny nose and she gratefully took it and drank. As she sipped, Joseph felt her flushed face again. Without realizing it, Mary closed her eyes to his gentle touch. His fingers lingered, brushing, soft and warm. Something other than the warm, spicy tea pooled in her lower stomach. Something familiar and tingling that she quickly shooed away.

She felt cold, barren, when he retracted his fingers. Mary slowly opened her eyes, watching as he seemed to genuinely look her over out of concern. He then left her side to fetch her more pills and cook her breakfast.

Mary had to admit, she was pleasantly surprised by Joseph’s nurturing side. It was a side she hadn’t seen much of at all, considering all that had happened before the Collapse. She had seen Joseph’s persuasive and manipulative side. She had seen his grace and mercy. She had seen his pride, and even the violence he was capable of, bred into him like his brothers but so much more restrained.

His caring and tender side was foreign to her, but it piqued her interest. And she wondered how many sides, how many depths, there were to Joseph Seed exactly. She was cautiously curious where their quite strange, seemingly constantly changing, relationship would end up next.

 

* * *

In all of his years, Joseph had never met anyone so headstrong. The fronts this woman put up to keep from showing the world what he saw deep inside were a lot to keep up with. Mary was adamant she wasn’t sick, which meant she knew she was sick but refused to admit it, to put herself in a position where she showed weakness to him. 

But what Mary didn’t know was that Joseph already understood how she ticked, knew exactly what her fronts concealed. He may have still been trying to figure out her quirks and other inner workings, but he knew underneath all that Wrath, stubbornness, and rough exterior there was a woman who had been cut so deeply by the world, put in a position so helpless that she never wanted put there again. Pain, sorrow, and even guilt fueled her sin. And, in time, Joseph would learn exactly why.

For now, he had to deal with her exhausting, unrelenting belief that she only had allergies, even as he showed her the thermometer’s 100.6 temperature it got from her.

“I’m just  _ that  _ hot,” she joked terribly. And then proceeded to wheeze like a sick goat.

The preacher had never met someone so in denial for so many different reasons. Joseph took a moment to recall that God really had a twisted sense of humor at times. To think that not only was his future wife and mother of his children the Deputy that destroyed his Project (and most of Hope County) and killed his family was twisted enough. But Mary was his complete opposite as far as their bare natures went. If Joseph hadn’t seen marriage and children in their future, he knew his patience would’ve been in trouble and his darker impulses that his brothers openly fed would’ve came knocking.

Hell, Joseph thought his patience was unlimited until he became trapped down here with her. And he had only just begun any sort of effort to pursue her.

_ Lord, give me strength... _

Mary was also so different from his first wife. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She had been graceful, polite, quiet, and patient. Yes, even more patient than him. Perhaps that’s where his infinite patience had come from. 

Despite that, Joseph never desired a woman as much as he desired Mary. Perhaps it wasn’t all Mary draining his patience away, but his self-control eager to kiss and fondle and take what would soon be his.

“What  _ is  _ that?” Mary griped, pushing the cup away with a curled lip.

“A concoction for your ailment. Drink it,” Joseph answered.

“No, it smells like minty barf. And yes, that’s an actual thing, I got sick on peppermint rum before. Let me tell ya, that was  _ not  _ a good night for me.”

Joseph sighed. The brew would be harder to force down her throat than pills, and thought over ways to persuade her.

He met Mary’s challenging eyes, as if she could be a challenge wrapped up like a cocoon on the couch.

“Fine. I will just give a sermon to you instead.”

“Hell no, hand the nasty juice over!”

He rolled his eyes and gave the mug to her. The Deputy slurped it down in nearly one go. When she pulled the mug away, Joseph stepped back because she looked like she was about to throw it back up.

She grimaced after swallowing. “Yuck. This better work.”

Joseph quickly brought her water to chase the concoction down. He smiled softly at her as she gratefully took it and drank it.

“Are you finally admitting that you are sick then?”

Mary huffed. “I’m  _ maybe  _ just a little sick...but it’s mostly allergies.”

“Do you ever think that  _ maybe  _ your life would be less difficult if you would reign in your stubbornness a little? You’re not fooling anyone, Mary. Not even yourself.”

The Deputy bristled, and Joseph prepared himself for a tantrum of some sort. A sneezing fit cut down her colorful words. The Father smiled at the quick, cute squeaks before Mary gave a loud, knackered whine.

“Okay! I’m sick! You were right. Are you happy now? As if your head needs to get any bigger than it is.”

Joseph gave a weary sigh. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He sat down just in front of her on the coffee table so he could be close enough to take care of (touch) her. She was still warm. He noticed, even while annoyed, that Mary didn’t pull away from his touch.

“I just hate when you’re right. Sucky things happen when you’re right. Stop calling sucky things, Joseph. You jinxed me, is what you did. Maybe you jinxed the world with the Collapse.”

The cult leader shook his head at her words, straining excess water from a cold washcloth and patting it across her fevered skin.

“That’s your excuse now?” he scoffed. “I showed you the Collapse before it happened and you still didn’t believe me. The Collapse was something I foresaw for years. And everything I said would happen did, in fact, occur, did it not? Telling you that you would get sick because of your careless decision to stay in the freezer was merely a rational observation that happened to come true.”

She didn’t have a counter to that and fell quiet, holding his hard gaze with her own. Joseph barely quirked his lips, self-satisfied, the hand with the tangled rosary touching her knee.

“And trust me, Mary. I’m about to be right in a lot more ways than just those.”

Her eyes fell to his hand on her knee, his skin brushing across hers through a tear in her jeans. Her larynx bobbled from a particularly large swallow and she forced a tight-lipped smile to conceal her nervousness.

“Whatever you say, Joseph. Just uhh...spare us from being right about any more end of the world prophecies, alright?”

The Father rose, towering over the Deputy. “The world will be ours, Mary.”  _ The Adam and Eve of a New Eden.  _ “And under our care, the world will only need to end once.”

He left her there to simmer in her own confusion and made her some more soup. She said nothing more while he worked in the kitchen, and when Joseph brought her a bowl, the Deputy took it with a mumbled thanks. Mary gazed into the steaming contents of the bowl, frowning. She stirred the spoon around, mixing the broth, vegetables, and noodles.

“Is something wrong?”

Mary looked up at him, quickly shaking her head. “N-No. It’s just...I remembered making Sarah this kind of soup before. I always took care of her when she was sick...it was up to me to take care of her no matter what when our mother didn’t.”

Joseph sat down nearby in the reclining chair, the buzzing of the aquarium’s filter thrumming behind his head. “I’m sure she appreciated you doing so.”

“Most of the time,” Mary replied, and weakly smiled. “She was...pretty stubborn sometimes. I one time threatened to hogtie her to her bed so she could rest while sick. She just wanted to go out and play.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that you took violent measures even as a child.”

Mary laughed. “I had to! You think  _ I’m _ stubborn? Sarah was mostly laid back but  _ oh boy _ was she even more stubborn than me on some things.”

That scowl inflicted her pink lips again, and she deflated a little. As expected, the Deputy pushed the attention off of her and her inner conflict and looked at Joseph expectantly.

“I guess you took care of Jacob and John when they were sick, huh?”

“Yes. John especially. Jacob whenever he allowed me to. He was pretty stubborn in his own right. But he was hardly ever sick growing up. Sturdy as a rock.”

“You ever take care of your parents if they were sick?” Mary asked after a long pause.

“No,” Joseph replied flatly. “Not willingly anyways. And when they did make me there was nothing “caring” about it.” He sighed, surprised there was still bitterness in him over his parents after all these years. He needed to let it go.

Mary ate a couple spoonfuls of her soup, assessing his words. “Yeah...know whatcha mean. I never had to take care of my father, he was always healthy as a horse. Besides, he had my mother back then if he needed it. But after he died...I took care of my mother all the time. She was constantly sick from all the drugs.” Mary’s fingers clenched around the ceramic bowl, jaw ticking. “Despite all of her promises that she would get better, she would stop, and that she was so sorry, well, she never tried. And in the end...I hated her for it. Like you said...there was nothing “caring” about it. Not like with Sarah.”

Joseph squeezed his rosary hard without realizing it. “It’s understandable how your mother fell into such a bad place after your father died based on what I know. But she should’ve stayed strong for her children. Instead, you became strong for them. You rose to the situation, became what you needed to be, just as you were destined to. It’s unfortunate that your mother didn’t realize what she had in front of her.”

Mary blinked tears from her eyes, staring into her bowl. “But I didn’t become strong enough.”

Joseph leaned forward, closer to her, cocking his head a little to study her creased face. “No, you didn’t.”

That made her look at him, green eyes insulted. Joseph gave her a consoling smile. “You  _ couldn’t _ . You were a  _ child  _ and there was no way you could. The world failed you. Because of people’s apathy and greed. Your mother failed you. Because she was consumed by her own demons. Such is the tribulation of our childhoods, Mary. Readying us for our futures and fates. But I guarantee you this...you are absolutely strong enough now.”

It took her a long time to respond. So long, Joseph thought maybe he’d angered her, but he at last he saw her breathe, the tension fading away from her body. And she looked at him gratefully, although it was only with his adept people reading skills that Joseph was able to catch it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

* * *

Once she was feeling better again, Joseph kept his word on teaching her how to cook - and it wasn’t necessarily the steam from the pots and pans that was causing her to break into a sweat. Nor was it the “hard work” of chopping vegetables or kneading dough either. No, it was actually Joseph himself - or rather what he continued to do to her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was continuously testing her, gauging her reactions, looking for something. If only she knew what…

Just  _ thinking _ about having to willingly stand in the kitchen, armed with only a wooden spoon to dig herself out of this mess made her break out in goosebumps. She stood in the doorway, shivering. Joseph was already in the kitchen, picking up ingredients from the fridge and cupboards.

Mary noticed since Joseph had come out of his self-made isolation in his room earlier this week, things had noticeably improved between them. Their conversations were now mostly peaceful, and interaction with him was no longer as stressful as it had been in the beginning. They had both relaxed somewhat and were now something approaching friendly, almost amicable with each other. It was  _ scary _ .

Antagonistic Joseph, _ that  _ she knew how to handle. But this? First he took care of her while she was a sick (but mostly  _ allergic)  _ and sniffling mess, and now he was about to give her cooking lessons? Her head still spun from the very idea of it, but here she was, Officer Samson reporting for kitchen duty.

_ Here goes nothing.  _ She approached Joseph at the kitchen counter.

“Sooo...what’s on the menu today, ‘Mister Manbun of the Year’?” she asked cheekily as she walked up behind said award-worthy man bun. “Like I said before, I’m not a picky eater, but even the sturdiness of my stomach has its limits. I’m fine with just about anything, as long as it doesn’t include roadkill of some kind.” Mary joked half-heartedly, shuddering as she thought back to Chad Wolanski’s special brand of “cuisine”, if one could even call it like that. 

_ Thank God _ she had never been desperate enough to give Chad’s cooking skills a try, pretending to be full when he offered her a “delicious” looking skunk burger; Mary was known to be curious and adventurous - but not  _ that _ curious and adventurous. Her stomach had twisted with a silent but resounding  _ NOPE _ as she eyed the suspicious looking patty on the grill that Chad had tried his best to warm her up to.

She had then made a show of patting her supposedly “full” belly like she’d just had a  _ real  _ good meal - even though her stomach had been yawning with emptiness after over half a day without food and had made itself loudly known at this very unfortunate moment, vaguely resembling a  **_hangry_ ** grizzly bear in the process. The Deputy had assured that she’d have come back and try one another time, which she clearly never intended. Being open to trying new things was one thing - inviting food poisoning or disease another. Better to be safe than sorry.

She was tentatively optimistic that Joseph’s skills were better than that, guessing from the soups he had made for her while she had been ill. Grudgingly, she had to admit that they had even been  **tasty** _ , _ not just “edible”. Who’d have thought? That man clearly had many hidden talents it seemed. She wondered what other talents that included, besides making the perfect man bun and cooking delicious veggie soup...

When she reached him at the kitchen counter, he turned to her, giving her a full view of the contents he had picked for their meal: canned tomatoes, eggplants, zucchini, green olives and mushrooms as well as a packet of lasagna sheets, a large chunk of some type of cheese as well as an assortment of different mediterranean spices. _Yummy,_ _I_ ** _love_** _Italian food!_ A happy grin passed over her face.

Further down the counter he had placed a large mixing bowl as well as some more ingredients which seemed to include flour, dry yeast, a stick of butter, powdered milk, sugar, salt, raisins and a small plastic ice cube tray with some frozen yellowish-orange ingredient inside.  _ Wonder what that’s for, _ she thought curiously.

“Ohhh, so we’re gonna eat Italian today? You’re lucky, that’s my favourite.” Mary praised his choice of food with a nod.

“No,  _ you’re  _ lucky because  _ you  _ get to cook it. I’m just here to assist you if needed,” Joseph had to smile at her enthusiasm.

“What? But I can’t! I don’t know what to do!” 

“Luckily for you, you got me,” the cult leader smirked smugly at her, eyes sparkling with amusement. “But first…”

The preacher bent forward to reach past her, giving her a heart attack for a moment when she thought he was leaning in to grab her face. She stood like a deer caught in headlights, barely managing to keep herself from flinching back, forcing her eyes awkwardly over his shoulder. It wasn’t like she expected him to do anything violent to her these days, just... _ something (un)expected. Thrilling.  _ **_Dangerous_ ** _. _

She had no idea where that thought came from, but even though she didn’t feel threatened by him, she felt a tickle of  _ something  _ creeping down her spine _.  _ A forbidden part in the back of her mind that she had  _ desperately _ tried to quarantine and silence in the last few weeks buzzed to life. What was he up to  _ now _ ?

Instead, he grabbed an apron that Mary hadn’t noticed, hanging from one of the simple metal hooks beside the counter, right next to the fresh dish towels. When he retreated, he pressed the slightly wrinkled cotton apron in her hand. 

“Can’t be too careful,” he offered after her puzzled look. “Hot tomato sauce can give you nasty burns if you don’t watch out. Put this on.”

“Are you serious? You gotta be kidding.” Mary scowled as she held out the black barbecue apron at arms length to inspect it.  **_KISS THE COOK_ ** , the apron boldly demanded in crimson, western style letters. Underneath the slogan, a simpering, juicy steak the size of a small European country wearing a white chef’s hat was sitting proudly atop a barbecue fork with folded arms. She had no idea why the steak would want to sit there though, let alone smile - that  _ had _ to hurt.

“I’m not wearing this! This is silly,” the Deputy weakly protested. Who knew that Dutch had such awful taste in cooking apparel? So insulting. And wearing it would possibly be giving off the wrong vibe. And it wasn’t like she wanted to give anybody any ideas or anything. Not in the slightest. 

_ Wouldn’t dream of it. Ever. _

Underneath her fuzzy warm sweater, a small trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades, unseen by an amused Joseph.

 

* * *

“Put it on, it’s just an apron. It won’t bite.” Joseph couldn’t fully keep his face as neutral as he had intended, thoroughly entertained by her disproportionate indignation. She was clearly nervous and off-balance, and the lesson hadn’t even started yet.

When Mary stubbornly crossed her arms holding that fashion disaster of an apron, making no move to put it on, Joseph sighed and calmly argued. “Look, Mary...you need to put this on before we start. Your clumsiness is legendary and I won’t spend the rest of the evening taking care of any avoidable burns or stains on your clothing. Just humor me. Nobody cares what that old apron looks like. And I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Shall we?” He held his arms out, almost as if asking her for the next dance.

His bunker mate was clearly confused by the gesture for a moment, judging by her widening eyes and blown out pupils, but then she seemed to understand that he was asking her  _ nicely _ to put on that infernal apron and  _ finally _ get into gear. Giving him one last annoyed look before rolling her eyes, she shook out the apron once before putting it on with a huff, struggling to tie the too large apron in the back without seeing what she was doing. The cult leader turned cooking instructor watched her pitiful attempts patiently for a moment before offering help. He had no intention of going to bed hungry if this was going to take all night.

“Allow me.” Stepping behind her, he reached out and grabbed the loose straps from her hand before she could object. Quickly and dexterously, he twined the long straps around each other before he put his arms around hers. She froze, inhaling sharply, as he wrapped the ties to the front, all around her waist, before lacing them around each other again and tying them with a neat, skillful knot.

“There, that should do the trick.” He flashed a lopsided smile even though he knew she couldn’t see it with him still towering behind her as his hands rested on her apron-clad hips for a short moment longer before letting his fingers slip away. He gave her no time to overthink his closeness as he placed the metal mixing bowl waiting on the counter before her instead. Mary only now remembered how to breathe.

 

* * *

Joseph making quick work of the fiddly process of tying herself up in the apron from hell came out of nowhere. She had no time to think and wasn’t mentally prepared for him to suddenly put his arms around her, even if it was a completely innocent act - at least, outside of her overactive imagination. 

Caged in between his too warm arms (she had also dubbed him  _ human furnace _ in her mind by now, right beside his rightful title of  _ Hipster Jesus™ _ ), she could only watch dumbfoundedly as the preacher laced her into that mockery of an apron with skilled and fast fingers. He was clearly good with his hands, no matter what he touched...her mind really needed to stop straying.  _ Pesky _ little thing. 

A small sigh slipped out between her parted lips as she pinched her nose.  _ Get it together, girl! _

By the time she’d recovered from his unexpected assistance, he had already turned back to the duty at hand and picked two small glass bowls from a cupboard, filling one with lukewarm water and popping two of the orange-yellow ice cubes into the other bowl.

“What are we gonna make with this?” The Deputy couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer and frowned as she peered past his shoulder.

“Something special,” he replied mysteriously, a subtle smile in his eyes. He fished a measuring cup from the cabinet, handing it to Mary.

“Well...obviously. But what?”

He snorted. “Patience is a virtue.”

“I never said I was virtuous.” Mary shrugged dismissively.

“Neither did I.”

“Hey!” came the indignant sputter from his side.

His deep chuckle did funny things to her knees. Unholy things. Knee-weakening things.  _ Bad knees! _

She discreetly pressed her legs together, trying to shoo away the odd sensation as quickly as possible as she watched him lean against the counter.

“If you must know...we’re making something that I used to make for John when he was little. Our grandmother spent some time in Europe with her parents as a young girl and was introduced to the local customs and cuisine there. When she moved back to the States later, she brought with her the recipe of a speciality that children in Germany used to eat on St. Martin’s Day.”

“And what is that?”

“Raisin buns.”

“Raisin what now? I’ve never tried those.”

“Not surprising. They’re not that well known over here, but in Europe, Germany especially, they are popular treats around Christmas time. My grandmother used to make them for Jacob and me when we were young.” His eyes had taken on a nostalgic look as he looked at the kitchen floor, lost in thought. 

“She was our only silver lining back when I was very young. Comforted us a lot whenever she visited us, which wasn’t as often as we would have liked.” He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. “After she passed away, I took over and made them for my brothers and me. It always reminded us of her and the happy moments we spent with her.” A nostalgic smile snuck itself onto his thoughtful face. “I made them whenever we could get our hands on the ingredients. John in particular loved them...he had a real sweet tooth.” Joseph’s smile turned from nostalgic to sad.

Mary felt a flush of shame sweep over her face. The guilt that she usually managed to wrestle into submission broke through to the surface. She stood there wringing her hands awkwardly, mulling over a way to bring the conversation back into safer territory.

_ Think dammit...THINK! _

 

* * *

“You know…” The Deputy rubbed her neck slowly as she often did when insecure or embarrassed. Joseph had noticed that quirk quite a few times before, whenever she was either distracted, brooding over something, or feeling slightly unwell in her skin.

“That was a really nice thing to do for your brothers. I bet they appreciated what you did for them,” she offered finally. 

After another moment of silence between them, her smile turned sheepish. “Always the mother hen, eh?” she joked tentatively.

His eyes met hers, and after a moment, he responded with a subtle smile of his own. 

“I’ve been called worse.”

 

* * *

Once they went back to the task at hand, Joseph had placed the mixing bowl before the Deputy and let her push up the sleeves of her sweater.

“Hands clean?”

She glared at him. “What am I, five years old? Of course they’re clean. Freshly washed even. You can even still smell the soap. Here!” She first smelled it herself before she held her balled fist under his nose, an unmistakable middle finger to him questioning her hygiene. 

He chuckled as he took her wrist and slowly pushed her arm down without force, ignoring the annoyed look she gave him.

“No need to feel offended. Just checking because those hands-” (and there her stomach had the  _ audacity _ to do an electrified flic-flac when she felt his thumb caress over her inner wrist once) “-are going into this bowl, together with the dough for the raisin buns. Wouldn’t want to ruin them by accident.”

Mary fought down the oddest feeling of disappointment (now where did  _ that  _ come from?) when he released her arm and prepared the powdered dry yeast in one of the two small bowls he had filled earlier.

Taking a sneaky but deep breath the Deputy turned her attention away from what she  _ thought _ he had just done to what he was doing  _ now _ . Watching him mixing the yeast with the water in one of the bowls, she looked into the other one with the frozen orange-hued liquid. 

“What’s that orange goo? Kinda looks like molten cheddar with frozen orange juice. Eww.” She wrinkled her nose, poking it.

“Egg yolk.”

“What, really? I didn’t know you could freeze those!”

“Obviously, you can. It’s actually quite smart. That way you get to use eggs long past their normal expiration date. You just can’t freeze them in one piece, and you need to separate the egg white and egg yolk to be able to use them separately once unfrozen.”

“My, aren’t you a walking encyclopedia of kitchen knowledge!” Mary teased. “You’re full of surprises.”

Not looking up from where he was bent over the bowl to stir the yeast, he merely offered a deadpan “...I try.”

“So what do we need the egg yolk for?” she wondered. “Didn’t know eggs go into yeast dough.”

“They don’t.” Sensing her raised eyebrows, he turned to her giving her a faint smirk. “You get to make what you do best - a nice little mess. Only this time, the worst that will happen will be some egg yolk on the floor. You get to paint the buns with your ‘orange goo’ once it’s completely defrosted.”

“Paint? Like how?” She looked at her empty hands, wriggling her fingers. “Finger painting?” 

“In your dreams. There’s actually a silicone brush in one of those drawers.”

“Party pooper.” 

“Again...I’ve been called worse.”

She grinned mischievously. “I bet.”

 

* * *

"You know, this actually isn’t as bad as I thought it would be," Mary said. "I thought this lesson would be a pain in the ass, but I like this." She watched as Joseph finished pouring the last ingredients into the metal bowl where Mary had her hands buried in what was supposed to become the yeast dough for Joseph's infamous raisin buns. She squished the soft contents of the bowl between her fingers, enjoying the pillowy feel of it.

"This actually reminds me of the times Sarah and I would bake cookies together back when Mom hadn't lost it yet. We always had fun, although it was mostly  _ me _ baking and Sarah mainly doing the 'quality control'." She laughed, remembering her clever little sister back in happier times. "In the end, we were lucky every time there were any left at all after all her intense 'sampling' of my Christmas cookies. I often got into trouble with Mom and Dad in the years before...because I could hardly ever say no to my sister's pleading eyes whenever she asked me to try 'just one more...pleeease!'. I was supposed to bake enough for the four of us, but Sarah often made short work of our stash. She literally inhaled them." Mary grinned. "Now that I think about it, I guess that was a big compliment..."

“Sounds like you were the prime example of an older sister...taking care of your younger sibling while spoiling them rotten,” Joseph noticed.

“The ‘spoiled rotten’ part is debatable, I still gave her more than enough shit when she screwed up which admittedly didn’t happen too often. But I  _ did _ try to pamper her by keeping the bad stuff away from her as much as I could. Baking cookies for my little sis was just the cherry on top. It was one thing I did well.”

Lost in thought, thinking about Sarah and the sometimes difficult last years they spent side by side, Mary started to punch the soft, goopy mass in the bowl, taking out her inner tension on the unsuspecting dough. She didn’t even notice how she was abusing the helpless pastry until Joseph’s hands closed gently around her wrists, halting their movement. She raised her eyes to look into his.

“I’m sure you did the best you could, considering the circumstances.” Joseph murmured, a serious look on his face.

“Sometimes, that’s not good enough.”

“The best is  _ always _ good enough, even if you fail. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Nobody expects you to give more than you can. We’re all only human after all.” His eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer. 

Just when Mary thought he was done with his little pep talk, he surprised her by continuing.

"I used to prepare the food for my brothers when our parents neglected us. When I ended up alone after we first got separated from Jacob and then later John was taken away from me, I stopped cooking altogether for a long time. I was all alone and didn't see much point in it. There was no joy in it for me, just cooking for myself and nobody else. It was somehow a ‘family thing’ for me to cook for others.” He looked pensive, as if he were far away. Then his eyes focused intently on Mary again. 

“I only took up cooking again once my wife was pregnant. I actually enjoyed it, and she relished to have me take care of her that way.” He smiled, a hint of nostalgia in the depth of his eyes. “But looking back I wish I had done it more often. Even before she was expecting. But regrets get us nowhere in life and just make us miserable...unable to savor the moment or prepare for what’s ahead of us.” He softly grabbed her wrists since her hands were buried in sticky would-be dough, and it felt strangely intimate to her. 

Her hands had stopped working as their talk had become more serious, and the dough lay forgotten in the bowl, her eyes riveted to his. She felt hot under her apron. What was going on? She was way too young for hot flashes! Almost two decades off...

“We always need to look forward...not backward.” Joseph concluded his little speech, almost whispering. Mary couldn’t help feeling there was a deeper meaning hidden in there somewhere.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and right before things had a chance to turn  _ really _ awkward, he pulled back and smiled wistfully. 

“Are you good at giving massages?” he asked quietly, still holding her by her wrists.

“W-What??” she stammered.

He  _ couldn’t _ possibly have said what she thought he just said. His sudden, totally unexpected change of topic threw her for a loop so hard it actually gave her the intellectual equivalent of whiplash. She was suddenly reduced to the eloquence of a dyslexic goldfish.

“Your hands...are they any good at kneading?” He looked first at her hands, then up at her, clearly noticing her confusion. His smile still didn’t wane. Was that jerk having fun at her expense?  _ Screw you, Mr. Shirts-Are-For-Sinners. _

“Ummm…ahh,” she vocalized inanely, her brain desperately grasping for purchase. Her mind came up blank.  _ Yep, still mentally a goldfish. Well done, chica. _

“If so, then get going. Those buns won’t make themselves, after all.” He pressed her hands back into the dough with a ghostly smile, leaving her standing there open-mouthed. 

When the Deputy finally woke from her frozen state of confusion and disbelief, Joseph had already turned his back on her to set a pot on the oven and start chopping away at the sauce ingredients.

“Why you-- !”

“Language...your fishy friends are listening.” 

It had to be a mix of both supernatural instincts and lightning-fast reflexes that made him dodge the bun-sized blob of raisin-sprinkled dough that ended up flying past his head. 

 

* * *

The stranded preacher carefully lifted the lid of the sauce pot. The steaming hot liquid smelled  _ delicious _ . Hard to believe Mary made most of it, with Joseph only offering advice whenever he thought she was about to drop the ball. Considering this was her first official lesson, she had been doing surprisingly well so far.

"Think it's safe to try some?" Joseph wondered, pulling a small spoon from one of the drawers to sample.

"Be my guest. It's  _ your _ funeral," the Deputy joked, secretly praying it wouldn't end up being one of those self-fulfilling prophecies. She couldn't stop herself from holding her breath nervously when he lifted the spoon to his mouth.

"Hmmm...something is missing." Joseph thought loudly, licking his lips contemplatively, a frown creasing his brow. "I think we might need some bay leaf. Wait here, I'll get some from storage."

"Wait, what about the buns? Are they ready? Should I put them in yet? The dough should’ve rested long enough by now...and I'm  **_really_ ** starting to feel peckish."

"Let me just finish seasoning this and then I'll put our buns in the oven." He offered her a smirk, too quick for her to really have a chance to think about how oddly ambiguous it sounded, before heading out of the kitchen to get some bay leaf.

"Don't touch anything!" He called from the hallway, already halfway to the storage rooms.

“Yeah, yeah.”

"Hmm." Mary glanced around, not knowing what to do with herself as she drummed her fingernails on the counter, antsy and clueless as to what she should do until he returned. The buns had to wait until he said they were ready. But the sauce...

"He only said to not touch it...right?" The Deputy pondered loudly, looking around the kitchen. "I'm  **_sure_ ** we must have some bay leaf up here...guess he was just too lazy to go through all the cupboards to check if there's any. Pffft. Typical. Never ask a man to do a woman's job."

"Let's see what we have here...", Mary sing-songed as she opened kitchen cabinet after kitchen cabinet, without any luck. Until...

"Bingo!"

In her hands, the Deputy triumphantly held her prize like a golden trophy: a half-empty bottle of red wine from a secret late night sip a few weeks prior. It wasn't exactly bay leaf, really, but who was gonna be so nit-picky at this point, right?

_ How's this for some seasoning _ , Mary thought impishly, gleefully emptying the remaining red wine into the steaming pot full of sauce. Absolutely no touching involved.

 

* * *

One disaster and a crisply toasted fire blanket later, Joseph finally came to the conclusion that he should have come to since sharing the bunker with a Deputy whose zodiac sign seemed to be 'arsonist': that she had  _ definitely _ spent too much time around that good-for-nothing Boshaw.

"Lord, help us."

"Come on. We're still alive...and that was just...a test run anyway. Right?"

Once they’d gotten past his inevitable judgemental headshake, followed by a fast-forward repetition of him getting ingredients, chopping them up with Mary's help in record time and cooking the pasta sauce himself (this time  _ without _ incident and wine), they managed to finish stacking the lasagna sheets over the sauce (yay for team work), pushing the pan in the oven after long last. The buns would have to wait.

A weary silence filled the kitchen as they cleaned up the mess that the kitchen had become while waiting for their baking meal.

"Sorry about the blanket,” Mary offered meekly when Joseph kept quiet.

"I'm docking your pay for it."

"Joke’s on you, I'm not even getting paid."

"All the better, or else your fire insurance fee would be hell to pay."

"Always so negative! The fire didn't even singe your eyebrows. Just a bit of your nose and chest hair. Quit being so dramatic. Judge not lest ye be judged, and all that."

When it was finally done, the oven managed to grab their attention with a loud  _ ping _ , indicating that their food was ready.

With a long-suffering sigh, he pulled out his chair.

"Let's eat."

 

* * *

"You know, if this whole 'doomsday cult leader' thing should stop working for you at some point, you could always open a restaurant." Mary leaned back in her seat with a satisfied sigh, rubbing her now pleasantly full belly which happily housed two generous servings of veggie lasagna. "How about something like  _ "Cult Daddy's Grill" _ or  _ "Joseph's Church of Pizza" _ ...or some other classy name, I'm open to suggestions." She shrugged. "The lasagna was really a lot better than expected." She thought it over for a minute. "Or living in a bunker twenty feet below a flaming inferno really made me appreciate home cooked food more than expected.”

Joseph merely snorted before picking up his napkin and wiping his mouth before tossing it back beside his now empty plate, mirroring her and leaning back in his seat, hands folded casually on the table.

"My first cooking lesson and we're both still alive! This calls for celebration." She grimaced, raising her glass of iced tea.

"Here's to  _ not _ setting the kitchen on fire again," Joseph suggested dryly before raising his glass of water in a mock toast and taking a sip.

"Hey now, that wasn't intentional! You can’t prove anything," Mary protested, crossing her arms. "How was I supposed to know turning up the heat and adding a little bit of red wine would set the whole damn thing on fire! And for the record, it wasn’t the whole kitchen, only a pot of tomato sauce that ended up burning. There's a difference!"

"The difference being a burned meal instead of possibly lethal burns...or smoke poisoning. Also, you almost burned my buns." He emptied his glass, setting it back down on the table. “You mostly ignored my instructions, or else none of that would’ve happened. I never said anything about turning up the heat or pouring wine into the food behind my back.” 

"Bah, you're no fun. Live a little! I actually liked cooking that meal...apart from the fire, I guess. Besides, I really thought the sauce could use some red wine. Or maybe  **_I_ ** did. Don’t really remember.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, pretending to try really hard to recall the moment she had made that foolish decision. “And how was I supposed to know the buns would take a while longer before they finally tanned, those things were as white as my dead grandma's pasty bingo wings before I turned up the heat."

"I'll still think twice before I let you near that stove again. It's safer that way. I swear you’re as trustworthy as a nosy toddler when you’re unsupervised for even two seconds in the kitchen. I’m glad the worst thing that happened was only having to start all over again on the lasagna filling. I'd rather do the cooking myself than extinguish another kitchen fire every other day. "

She shot him a sly glance. "Does that mean  _ you _ get to wear the apron of shame?"

"No."

"What, why? You had  _ me _ wear it!"

"That's because  _ you're _ clumsy and we might run out of burn ointment within a month if you keep this up."

"Nonsense, there's plenty of burn ointment. More than enough. I should know, I did most of the damn inventory."

"Are you sure about that? This was only your first lesson, and judging by the speed at which you're running through our medical supplies..." The preacher tilted his head, looking her over with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Ugh! You're doing the dishes."

 

* * *

Three days into Joseph’s cooking lessons (why yes, he  _ had _ in fact let her near the stove again - after some pestering and a promise to never fiddle with the heat again unless he told her so), and it wasn’t so much awkward as it was just odd. And not just because Joseph had taken to leaving his hair down more often now. Was it because she had called him “ _ Mr. Manbun of the Year _ ” the other day? Was he upset because of that? Who knew...he was often an enigma to her, and this particular detail wasn’t an exception. 

It was just strange because it took a lot of severity off his face. He still had that unmistakable aura of authority, but somehow seemed...less stern. Or maybe it was just her imagination? Either way, man bun or not, he was still “ _ Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-shirts-but-hey-look-at-all-my-tattoos” _ . And she mysteriously found herself not minding as much as she used to just a month ago…

It was just plain weird getting cooking lessons from a fanatical, tattoo-covered cult leader though. The absurdity of the situation would’ve broken her out into fits of giggles had it been only three months earlier. But now? Now it only left her scratching her head at how  _ the hell _ she ended up here - in a bunker of steel and concrete, twenty feet below ground, cooking with a half-naked crazy preacher while wearing that ridiculous barbecue apron. 

_ Where did it all go so wrong?  _

Or right, depending on how one looked at it - while her current predicament was certainly far from ideal (hellooo, locked up in a bunker after a mild case of  _ very  _ unpleasant apocalypse with the  _ tiniest _ dash of catastrophe), it certainly could’ve been worse, much worse. Joseph was being civil and patient with her. She was free to move around the bunker, had a full belly, and was free to spend her time however she liked. All in all, it could’ve been much less pleasant. Life was...shockingly bearable. 

Except...the cooking part. Now  _ THAT _ gave her wet palms. Mary hadn’t really “cooked” in a long time, not since Sarah, mostly eating fast food while on duty with her colleagues; after “the Incident”, as she called Joseph’s botched arrest in her mind, she usually ended up eating whatever canned scraps she managed to find in the abandoned homes of Hope County - or whatever Casey managed to create in his kitchen with what meager ingredients he had at his disposal. Compared to her own  _ very _ humble cooking skills, the “rustic cuisine” of the  _ Spread Eagle _ probably made it a five-star establishment - Casey’s skills notwithstanding. 

Mary had spent her later teen years and young adult life on her own, in and out of trouble, therapy, juvenile detention, and boot camp. And later years in a police academy and college. She never really learned to cook more than what she needed to fend for herself.

She had told Joseph that after her father passed away, she was the one mostly taking care of her sister and mother, and that included cooking. But it was simple, cheap meals because they lived in poverty. And they preferably fit into a toaster...which limited the number of possible “cooking accidents” considerably.

Now though, Joseph’s cooking lessons slowly seemed to help lessen her anxiety and strengthen her confidence in her kitchen skills...despite certain recent disasters that she may or may not be guilty of. Who’d have thought that putting out a minor kitchen fire together could do wonders for bonding?! Yay for not burning to a crisp...or suffocating on toxic fumes.

“Jacob tried to take care of us as far as feeding and washing, but he was never any good at it. So, I stepped up,” Joseph said. “Jacob was better at protecting us, stealing food and supplies when we needed it. I cooked and cleaned mostly. Even made John’s formula and changed his diapers. You get creative with what little you have.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth,” Mary said, but his words were endearing to her. He had been like her, going so long taking care of others over himself.

Joseph’s eyes became distant, a slight frown as he stared at her boiling potatoes. Mary frowned as well and knew he was thinking about his late brothers. She recognized the aura he put off. It was the same one that clouded her when she thought of Sarah and her father. Mary swallowed hard, dipping a wooden spoon into the boiling pot to stir the potatoes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He sighed. “You didn’t bring it up. I did.”

She shook her head. “Not what I meant. I mean…sorry for what I did.” It took all she had, but she turned and forced herself to look him in the eye. “Whether you believe me or not…I really  _ did _ try to stop them in other ways. I’m sorry, Joseph. I wish there had been a different way.”

His smile was genuine, soft, blue eyes lingering over her figure. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair before tucking a strand behind her ear. Her heart pitter-pattered, and she actually expected him to accept her apology when she really didn’t deserve it. But what he ended up saying confused the hell out of her and felt like static electricity on the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry. You’ll make it up to me in due time.”

He slipped by her, opening the refrigerator to take out the defrosted fish fillets they pulled from the walk-in freezer. Mary was still addled when he brought them over to her, wondering exactly what he could’ve meant.

_ Me converting, maybe? Who the hell knows with him... _

Seeing the fish fillets, trout it looked like, made her smile, and she pushed past his strange words by diving into memories of her and her trusty fishing rod spending a few rare, quiet moments sitting by one of the many ponds and rivers of Hope County.

“Oh fish! I can cook fish. Caught so many from winning records that I kinda had to learn. Mary May cursed me for awhile what with all the fish she had to serve in the bar.”

Joseph gave her a curious look, his eyes flicking to the aquarium in the den. “You…really like fish, don’t you?”

“I do. They’re interesting creatures. And beautiful to look at, the way they swim so elegantly in the water...”

Joseph’s face crinkled, as though he was trying to figure out if she was serious or not. It made her laugh at his sceptical reaction. It wasn’t the first time someone scratched their head over her unusual love for fish.

“Most people like cats and dogs.”

Mary tapped the spoon on the edge of the saucepan and set it down. She took the plate with fillets from the preacher’s hand. “I like cats and dogs too. I like most animals, actually - well, maybe except for turkeys and wolverines.” She raised her eyebrows and threw him a meaningful look. “I had a badass dog before the bombs fell. God, I miss Boomer. He was smarter than most people,” she laughed, remembering her loyal four-legged friend, ”-and smelled better than a good portion of Ede-” she stuttered and stumbled over her careless babbling, quickly catching herself. “---nevermind,” the Deputy coughed awkwardly.

Joseph still looked like he was trying to understand her. Mary sighed, figuring she should explain. “I got into angling when I was really young. My dad loved it, and we went snorkeling and boating all the time in Florida. He was even taking me to scuba lessons before…well, before he died.”

Mary dazed off, thinking of all the promises her father made, all the adventures they had planned to share together. All gone. She had almost forgotten some of them. Now the world was gone and she couldn’t even go and experience them as an adult.

Joseph’s hand enclosed hers as her fingers lingered on one of the stove’s burner knobs. He squeezed her fingers just enough to turn the burner down to a slower heat for her. She broke from her reverie and looked up at him. He weakly smiled, understanding.

“If you’ve cooked fish then you know that it’s like most other meats. Cook it slow.”

He had only said something to bring her back to the present and in a gentle way. She appreciated the gesture and gave him a grateful look before returning to her cooking. Joseph leaned on the counter nearby, watching.

Mary cleared her throat. “So uh, you like animals?”

“I respect and appreciate all of God’s creations. Although, fish are not quite up as far on my list of favorites as yours.”

The Deputy chuckled at his lowkey quip. She looked over at the aquarium. Her oblivious pet fishies just swam around happily, not a care in the world. She called at them. “Don’t listen to him Bob, he’s just joking!” She then gave Joseph a deadpanned look and whispered in a mock-serious tone, “Honey, not in front of the children. You’ll hurt their feelings.”

The faint smirk Joseph gave her held a darker implication than expected. There was that weird feeling snaking up her spine again, watching as he lazily scratched his scruffy jaw. It startled her enough that she accidentally touched the boiling pot of potatoes and burned her finger. She hissed, wagging her hand and tore her gaze from him. Mary put the finger to her mouth and sucked on the reddening flesh to ease the pain.

“Here, give me your hand,” Joseph demanded before he took her hand from her mouth and held it under the faucet that he’d opened with his other hand. 

The Deputy was too taken by surprise to react and pull her hand away, so she let him hold it under the gushing, pleasantly cool water. The burn in her finger lessened immediately, but another burn, totally unrelated to her clumsiness, made itself known. She blushed, feeling him hold her fingers carefully, not too hard but not letting her slip away either. He silently watched the cold water run over her reddened skin for a moment before his eyes sought hers out.

“This is why I made you wear an apron the other day,” he said with a sigh. “You need to be more careful. Hurting yourself down here is a bad idea.” His eyes lingered on hers, making her squirm on the inside.

She quickly thought of something to push away the awkwardness of him holding her fingers. “So...dog or cat person? You have any pets growing up? We had German Shepherds for obvious reasons.”

Joseph was quiet for a moment and Mary wasn’t sure if it was because he was thinking or if he was too busy staring at her. She tried to ignore it as she took a gander at the cooking fish fillets.

“Dogs. I admire their loyalty. We did not have any pets growing up, although my brothers and I did often play with the neighbors’ dogs.”

Mary wasn’t surprised by his answer. Joseph turned the faucet off and dried her hand for her, taking a look at the small burn. She fidgeted under his care, heart knocking around her ribcage in a confusing and exhilarating way. She wanted to grab the organ and shake it until it had sense.

Speaking of sense, it made  _ no  _ sense. Joseph’s behavior was confusing the hell out of her. Hell, even her own behavior was confusing the hell out of her. She couldn’t decide what was her imagination and what wasn’t. Joseph was hard enough to read as it was without her misinterpreting his intentions. And here Mary thought she was a pro at reading people.

_ Joseph isn’t people...he’s...Joseph. And unreadable like the Sphinx to boot. Ugh. _

Crazy cult leader with a knack for mind games, no wonder the Deputy had a huge question mark atop her head with all that’s been going on lately. Was  _ this _ his latest method of trying to convert her? And if not...then what was it? She slowly was getting paranoid for sure.

Maybe it was the isolation in the bunker messing with her head. Although it was going on three months (she was so  _ not  _ ready to spend her first Christmas alone with a doomsday cult leader underground, she did  _ not _ sign up for this, thankyouverymuch) since they started this strange living arrangement, it felt like years already. 

_ Can’t believe I spent Halloween and Thanksgiving cleaning, feeding fish, and reading fashion magazines while Joseph was locked away talking to the voices in his head. Nick and Kim promised one hell of a feast for Turkey Day and so much for my Hurkoween invitation to Hurk and Sharky’s haunted house bash...bet it would’ve been a blast. Sigh. _

But the way Joseph’s hand stroked hers told her she was missing something, or refusing to open her eyes to what was in front of her. The preacher let her hand go, blue eyes studying her, his face concealing any emotion she could read.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Hard to believe the woman who destroyed most of Hope County like a wrecking ball is as clumsy as you.”

Mary blushed under his gaze, still cursing him for having such beautiful, entrancing eyes. Same kind of blue as his brothers, but infinitely more riveting, like he could see to the bottom of your soul with a single glance. Sometimes, his perceptiveness combined with his captivating eyes unsettled her. It made her feel vulnerable and unable to hide any secrets, no matter how small or personal.

She decided to play along. “Who needs grace when you can accidentally trip over a rake when you’re about to throw a grenade and said grenade lands near your ally’s truck and blows it up instead, which catches the building on fire and subsequently blows the gas tank inside where  _ no one _ can have the outpost after that...because I did that...seriously. Couldn’t accomplish that again if I tried. Wish I had it on instant replay so I could recreate it if needed. You never know.”

There was his trademark headshake once again. “...unbelievable.”

“I know. I’m so talented, I surprise even myself. It’s kind of my secret superpower. Was even tempted to write it into my CV for ten solid seconds. Kinda decided against it though, didn’t want to brag”, the Deputy joked with a half-grin. “It was a Fellatio Attack, or whatever they call that move in chess.”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut as if he was suddenly struck by a spontaneous migraine and sighed. “I think you mean the Fegatello Attack.”

_ Dammit! Knew there was a reason the more common name is ‘Fried Liver Attack’...easier to remember. And  _ **much** _ less likely to embarrass yourself. Good job, you moron. _

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged nonchalantly as if she just hadn’t put her foot in her mouth  _ All. The. Way. In. _ “Well, excuse me Mr. Chess Expert! I was running around with rednecks the past few months before the world blew up.”

“Do you play chess, Mary?”

The Deputy nodded. “It’s been awhile, but yes. I can play.”

The way Joseph smiled made her feel funny again, intuition begging her to open her eyes, subconscious denial retaliating with a bitch slap that had her head nearly spinning.  _ What  _ **_the hell_ ** _ is going on? _

Her heart may have been confused, excited, scared even, with whatever was going on, but her brain knew to take caution. Sheriff Whitehorse once told her that he believed Joseph Seed was Satan personified. She never really thought about it past the fact the Seeds uncannily took after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The Devil was a master at temptation, manipulation, and persuasion. Funny enough, so was Joseph Seed.

No matter how caring or friendly or peaceful he was, Joseph always had an angle, a plan, all to control or orchestrate to his advantage. That’s what all of this was, since he smugly proclaimed he had been right all along as the world burned above. It was his own game of chess, and they were the pieces. If this bunker was the board, then she was unguarded. A lonely Rook left exposed to the King. Capture was imminent.

He smiled.

“We should play a round together sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phew, this chapter was a doozy! It wasn't planned to be this long, but well, we hoped you guys liked it anyway! So much gratitude and love to my bestie and beta reader, Ravenprincess, who co-wrote this chapter (maybe most of it at this rate LMAO) I always appreciate your help and love our crazy talks and fun. <3
> 
> Well clueless Mary knows something is amiss! And I guess the important question to ask now is...What does Joseph have planned next?? ;) Thank you so much for all of the kudos and comments and hits, we so appreciate all of you! Til next time everyone! (I promise it won't take as long next chapter) Have a good week! :D


	12. The Best Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello readers! It's been awhile! This chapter is quite a doozy and suuuuuuuper delicious if you catch my drift...so the usual warnings apply. Happy reading!! ;D
> 
> ((( Listening recommendation for the last two thirds of this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADEaiNXFd7A )))

### Chapter 12: The Best Gift

Mary stared at the chess pieces, thinking hard. In fact so hard, her face felt like it was scrunched up in a mask of concentration. So what if she was a little rusty at chess? It took her awhile to think out her tactics, but she was keeping up with Joseph pretty well, despite his turns taking less than half the time hers did.

Joseph’s patience was annoying mostly. He just stared at her, judging her silently, as she hovered her fingers over pawns, rooks, and knights, deciding where to move. Later in the game, he rolled his neck or leaned back in his chair as he waited for her to move.

“May I just-”

“Shh shh shh!” Mary hissed, her eyes glued to the chessboard. “I got this!”

Two hours later, she did not, in fact, get a damn thing.

“It’s because you’re black. I’m used to playing black.”

Joseph chuckled. “There are no colors in conquest, Mary. Besides, you played black last time.”

He got her there. Mary made a face, leaning back in her chair, tilting the front legs off the ground and balancing on the back, using her feet to rock herself. She earned herself a disapproving look from her bunker mate for her bad manners.

“I’m merely a little rusty. Just you wait. Be assured that I _will_ beat you one of these days, Bare Chested Wonder. No Fried Liver Attack required.”

Joseph bounced his eyebrows, clearly amused but not convinced. “Well, at any rate, I have learned something watching you play.”

The Deputy inwardly grimaced, not sure she wanted to know. “And what’s that?”

“You _do_ actually have some patience. I mean, it’s barely there, but it’s…something.”

Mary half-rolled her eyes. “I can be patient if I want to be.”

“Also, the look on your face while trying to figure out my strategy is nothing short of precious.”

Mary looked up from the board and her eyes caught his. The Deputy felt her cheeks grow hot, and she wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. He had to be teasing her, although now she just felt overly self-conscious.

 _Okay, weird much, Captain Shirtless? If you think you can distract or confuse me so I’ll lose, I’ll teach you not to underestimate me again, sucker!…_ She grinned internally.

Her chair squeaked each time she rocked it on the back legs, chewing on her lip under his scrutiny. The communications room, recently cleaned and organized, seemed bigger now, less jumbled. The record player played oldies on a low volume, a soft ambience to their ongoing chess game, a bowl of delicious trail mix that Mary had been hogging for the better part of the past two hours resting on the table between them.

She flashed a cheesy grin. “Better than a resting bitch face, I guess.”

Nearly three weeks since they did inventory and the start of Joseph’s “cooking lessons”, and it was already almost Christmas. Mary couldn’t believe it; tomorrow would be her first Christmas without friends or family, after the world was over, gone, burned away. It was quite depressing, and wouldn’t let herself dwell on it long as the December days dragged.

At one point last week, she had gotten so down about it, she messed with the radio some more. She sent out several messages, trying to find life out there. There _had_ to be someone else. But she had only received static silence in return. Even the recorded, repeating messages from the government and disaster organizations had ceased. It was as if a deadly shroud of stillness had descended over the valley and the rest of the world, suffocating all life outside the bunker, outside their tiny, preserved bubble of existence.

It truly felt that the only people left in this world were her and Joseph. And _that_ terrified her to the bottom of her soul.

 _Joseph can’t be right. There_ **_have_ ** _to be others...if not here, then somewhere else…_

Mary could tell their situation was getting to the Father as well. He was better at concealing it than she was, but she caught him staring into nothing a few times, depressed and sorrowful, probably thinking about his lost family and friends just like her; probably mourning the ones she had taken from him. God, how many times had she brooded about this already since they were stuck down here, wishing that she could undo what she had done to his loved ones...

She expected he would eventually retreat back into his room again, avoid her, leave her alone to lick his wounds just when she had started to feel somewhat comfortable around him - but surprisingly, he didn’t. That relieved her more than she cared to admit to herself. Whether he was still her captor or not (whatever they were now, she didn’t know), Mary didn’t want to be alone during this time.

Instead, Joseph seemed to watch her even closer now, if that was even possible. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the feel of his eyes resting on her face, especially since it seemed that their shared depression seemed to push them somewhat closer together. Mary couldn’t make heads or tails of his odd behavior or even her own feelings on the matter.

Especially now that the ongoing radio silence may have confirmed her fears and Joseph’s affirmation. She didn’t even want to think about the implications of what their situation could produce in her overactive imagination. What did this mean for their future? As the last two people in Hope County alive? Maybe the world? And they just happened to be a man and a woman conveniently stuck in a bunker together for the next seven years? What could possibly go wrong…

Mary forced the thoughts from her mind, unsettled by the direction her wandering mind was taking and nearly choked on her drink. There was a better chance that Adelaide would’ve become a nun at some point before the Collapse than for anything to _ever_ happen between her and Joseph. _Yeah, like hell._ She’d rather have raced Hurk down the ziplines of the Whitetails naked (well, he had practically **_begged_ ** her to while on their way to get Hurk Senior’s truck back) or played Truth or Dare with a stoned Sharky while highly flammable and drunk as a skunk.

And it wasn’t just her. Mary was convinced that Joseph would rather commit murder-suicide before even considering anything like it, given what she had done to him; his predatory eyes resting on her whenever she twirled a strand of hair around her fingers while deep in thought about her next move being proof of that.

In a weird way, it relieved her.

_We’re approaching somewhere near friendly with each other, but killing each other is still on the menu - if only in the “desperate last measures” category. Somewhere on the list, right underneath ‘gag and bind Joseph in his sleep’ and ‘lock up Mr. Tight-ass in his room and throw away the keys’._

Like, whenever he forced her to wear the Apron from Hell™ for “safety reasons” while she had no doubt he just demanded it because he knew it annoyed the crap out of her. 

**_Jerk._ **

“What are you thinking?”

She tripped and crashed out of her thoughts, looking up at Joseph as he had his head slightly tilted, deep blue eyes intently on her. Mary quickly thought of a different subject than the one that had ran rampant in her imagination.

“Uh...just...you know...Christmas stuff.”

“‘Christmas stuff’?”

Why did she have to go with that? Couldn’t she have come up with something better? Now she was going to have to open up about herself. _Ugh_.

She nodded, like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah...tomorrow’s Christmas...I was just thinking about all the different kinds of Christmas holidays I had growing up. Most of them weren’t great. As I’m sure you know, Christmas isn’t about where you are or what you get, it’s about who you are spending it with. My best memories of Christmas were when Dad was still alive. When Sarah was happier. At least we had each other after he died, but it only got worse.” Mary frowned. “After Sarah...died...I didn’t have anyone for a long time.”

Joseph softly nodded, mulling over her words with a half-upturn of his lip. “Yes...I understand more than you know. Growing up, my brothers and I didn’t have much, but we didn’t care. We had each other. When we were separated, we were miserable for a long time. Spending Christmas forgotten in the foster system is emotionally debilitating for any child...as I’m sure you know. Once I finally found my brothers, we became a family again. I’m grateful my last few Christmas memories are actually happy ones.”

Mary fidgeted under his gaze. _No thanks to me, right?_

“We should celebrate it. Together.”

She looked at him in shock, thoughts doubling back to make sure she heard him right. “U-Us? Why? Our families and friends are dead, the world is gone, and we’re stuck in this concrete prison with the person who caused us the most pain. What is there to celebrate?”

Joseph sighed, as though disappointed he had to explain. He picked up one of his remaining pieces from their finished chess game, a black Rook. He rubbed it in between his fingers, admiring something it hid behind its glossy, cylindrical tower.

“That’s just it. We are blessed to even be alive. We were chosen by God to live and lead the new world. This bunker provides us with everything we need to survive the coming years. We should be grateful. And like it or not, you and I are family now.”

Mary glared at him. “And how do you propose we celebrate? I’m certainly not pulling a ham outta my ass. And you can call us family, Joseph, but we’ve barely started melting the ice.”

The Father curled his fingers around the chess piece and squeezed it hard, his eyes catching hers. “We celebrate by being thankful for what we have, not what we have lost. We remember our loved ones no longer with us, and do what they would’ve wanted us to do. _Live_. Not just survive.”

The Deputy lowered her gaze, uncertain. “I don’t know…”

She felt Joseph stand, heard the creak of his chair bounce around the concrete walls. His form towered over her, but she didn’t look at him.

“If you wish to be alone, I understand.”

He started to leave. Mary inwardly panicked, thinking he would lock himself in his room once again and she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t know if it was because it was Christmas or because this small hole in the ground had made her become so dependent on him. Probably both, and probably just as he had planned.

She snatched his arm just before he could get out of reach, the scarred skin and hard muscle tensing in surprise under her grip. “No! I just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s just weird, okay?” she mumbled, awkwardly letting his warm arm go. “But you’re right...we should celebrate...I guess.”

He patted her head like a child, earning him another glare from her, but his teasing half-smirk almost stopped her heart. “Good. I’ll cook us something special. And we can have wine. That is, if you didn’t use it all up in your little kitchen mishap a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hah! You’re so funny, Hipster Jesus. There’s plenty, actually.”

“You would know,” he said as he strolled out of the communications room.

Mary snorted, tossing a few pieces of trail mix into her mouth, glancing to the board and wondering where her tactics went wrong in the game, only to notice that Joseph had sat the Rook piece he had been holding right next to his King.

Looking at it gave her a funny feeling, one she couldn’t identify. Like something was going to happen within these concrete walls she couldn’t escape from. And the feeling stayed with her even into the next day.

 

* * *

 

Joseph gave up after the fifth attempt to keep Mary out of the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to expect, to be honest. First, she wanted to help. Joseph insisted she just relax and let him handle it, but as always the Deputy’s listening receptor was malfunctioned. A couple of smacks to her nosy hands and wandering eyes was enough to get his point across.

And so Mary sat at the table, watching him. In celebration of this special day, the preacher had gone the extra mile to put on a shirt for once - steel blue, nicely complementing his own eye color (not that she’d have noticed or anything). Somewhere along the way, she had gotten used to him foregoing a shirt most of the time...but it was still a nice change. It probably seemed disrespectful to him to celebrate the most important holiday while only half clad like a savage heathen. 

He let her ramble around odd subjects, a habit she had when she was nervous or bored. He caught her rubbing the back of her neck, a telltale sign she was restless.

“So I’m arguing with this chump, and I’m about to force feed him a knuckle sandwich, and I see the lid of a nearby trash bin pop off. ”

Content that all the food preparation was done, and now they just had to wait for it to cook, Joseph sat down across from the Deputy as she continued her story that he had only half-listened to, having put most of his concentration into dinner.

“Well anyway, that’s how I ended up in jail on Christmas Eve one year.”

Joseph gave her an odd look. “Because you...threw a skunk on someone?”

“Yes.”

“And it sprayed him?”

“Yes.”

“And the cops considered the animal a weapon and so it was aggravated assault?”

“Yes.”

Joseph sighed, concerned but oddly amused. “And where exactly did you get the skunk?”

“It was stuck in the trash can nearby. I saw it and I just...used it. I mean I do improvise a lot...” Mary grinned. “Needless to say, that bozo spent his Christmas taking a tomato paste bath. I bet you he never stole from the poor again though.”

“Your acts of justice are truly one of a kind, Mary.”

She beamed. “Thanks!” Then her face fell, as if unsure if he was just messing with her. “I think…”

The Deputy rapped both sets of fingers on the table, still restless, looking around. Her eyes fell to the lone thick white candle in the middle of the table, placed on a small ceramic holder. She got up, fumbled around in one of the drawers and, after a short search, triumphantly presented a small matchbox as if she had just found the cure to cancer. The broad grin on her face almost seemed sincere. Joseph could only gather that she nervous because it was Christmas, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself down here because of it. After all, they hardly had any Christmas decorations she could have busied herself with while he cooked.

Mary struck a match and lit the candle. With a satisfied look, she blew out the match and put aside the box. Too bad they didn’t have at least a fir branch...

“So...what’re you cooking anyway? Smells really good.”

“A roast.”

“And you checked it off the inventory?”

“I did.”

Mary nodded, eyes falling to the table as the aroma of their delicious Christmas dinner floated around the kitchen. She noticed a small book on the table and slid it over to her to look at it. Joseph watched her look it over curiously, her slender fingers smoothing over the crispy, yellowed pages.

“Poetry? Where did you get this?” she asked.

“Believe it or not, I found it in Mr. Roosevelt’s personal collection.”

Mary laughed. “No way!”

“It’s true.”

She admired the cover with a small, sad smile. “I always knew you were a softie underneath it all, Dutch.”

After she placed the book back down on the table, Joseph slid it back over to her. “I finished it. You should read it. It’s a pleasant read.”

“Thanks. Now **_you_ ** I can totally see being a fan of poetry and pretty words.”

Joseph gave a wry smile as he poured them each a glass of wine. Dinner was almost ready. “I am, actually. I used to write poems until...well until the Voice took over most of my life.”

“Really?” Mary sounded fascinated now, leaning forward and taking one long sip of her wine after she accepted it from his hand. “You should tell me some. I’m quite curious what kind of poetry an infamous cult leader would write.”

Joseph took a slow sip of his wine, meeting her intrigued eyes. “Perhaps I will one of these days.”

She was disappointed but unsurprised. “I’ll hold you to that...”

It wasn’t much longer until the roast was ready. Joseph prepared a plate for each of them and handed Mary’s hers first before sitting down across from her with his. He caught her about to dig in and cleared his throat purposefully before she could stuff the first bite into her mouth. Her eyes went up to him and he glared at her.

She dropped her fork back onto her plate with a disgruntled mumble. “Right...sorry.”

“Would you like to say grace, Mary?”

“Me?” The surprise was evident on her voice.

Joseph’s chuckle was barely audible. “Well, are there any other Marys down here?” To make a point, he made a show of looking under the table.

Her glare didn’t last long before she became visibly uncomfortable. “It’s just...been awhile, that’s all. I’m not used to saying grace anymore. You should do it.”

“Perhaps that’s all the more reason you _should_ say grace.”

Mary sighed heavily. “Okay, okay, fine. Just...don’t judge, alright?”

“Don’t concern yourself with me. Don’t think too much on it. Your prayer should come from your heart. You have nothing to worry about.”

The Deputy nodded nervously, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans before putting her hands together and closing her eyes. Joseph didn’t mimic her, instead watch her shift uncomfortably as she thought her words over.

“Heavenly Father, two broken souls are gathered here to celebrate You and the blessings You have given us. We’re alive, we’re healthy, we have companionship, despite how rocky it is at the moment. Whether we’re the last two people on Earth or not, You have blessed us with life, refuge, and a way to mend ourselves. Our bodies, our minds, our souls, in Your grace, and maybe in time, atone for our sins and achieve forgiveness and peace. We are thankful for all these blessings, and we are thankful for this meal, to honor this special day in Your name. Amen.”

There was a long bout of silence before a cautious, “How was that?” floated over to his side of the table.

Joseph opened his eyes, having realized he had subconsciously joined her prayer. He met her expectant eyes, warily awaiting his response. The preacher had to collect himself, her elegant prayer filling his heart with something he hadn't felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had touched a long forgotten part of his soul, making her even more beautiful to him now.

Joseph smiled warmly, offering his glass to her for a toast. “It was beautiful. You were worried for no reason. Shall we?”

Mary smiled, relieved to not have embarrassed herself, but the preacher caught the small tinge of red on her cheeks as she dinged her glass to his. They soon dug into their delicious food with gusto, enjoying their first peaceful Christmas dinner together - unbeknownst to them, the last one they would spend alone.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was mostly quiet as they ate, with only small conversations sprinkled in between. Mary had complimented Joseph on his cooking, but other than that, she was trying to keep herself from rambling like she had earlier.

To make up for not being able to help with dinner, Mary cleaned up and did the dishes afterward. Sweet retribution was granted to her by popping Joseph’s hand with the wet rag when he tried to help, just as he did to her when she tried to assist him with preparing their meal.

The Father raised his hands in surrender and backed away, leaning on the counter further down and crossing his arms. Mary went back to what she was doing, ignoring the tingly feeling of his observant eyes on her; being used to it by now making it easier to pretend it wasn’t happening.

“You ever have any family traditions growing up? For Christmas?”

His question caught her off guard, and Mary paused scrubbing a plate while she thought. “Well,” she said, half-turning to look at him as she washed. “Yeah, actually. My parents, Sarah, and I would give to charity. Foster children, the homeless, shelters. Then we would all go do something fun together. That was our gift.”

Mary smiled, recalling one of her most cherished memories. “One time, we took a trip to Delaware to visit some family. It was the first time Sarah and I got to go ice skating. Needless to say, we were both awful at it, but we couldn’t stop laughing as we kept busting our asses on the ice.” Her smile broadened. “When we watched Dad face plant into the snow, God, I thought my ribs would crack from laughing so hard. And Mom...she was a pro, all grace and dignity like it was the most natural thing for her to glide over the frozen lake. It always looked so effortless when she did it...”

The Deputy sat the plates on the dish rack to air dry and wiped her hands on a towel, finished with the dishes. She leaned on the counter, facing Joseph, wringing the towel in her hands as she continued.

“We had a big Christmas feast at our relatives’ afterwards. And Sarah handed me this little pendant she had found when she fell in the snow. It was an ivy leaf, green and gold with this little amber stone on the stem. Must’ve come off a necklace. So pretty. And Sarah tells me she thought of me when she found it. She hugged me and told me she loved me and that I was the best big sister ever.” Mary sighed, closing her eyes, heart aching. “It was the last Christmas we had as a family. My father passed away six months later.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

With a small shake of her head, she looped a finger under the dainty chain around her neck and pulled the necklace into view from underneath her shirt, looking thoughtfully at it. “Such is life, though, isn’t it?”

The Father cautiously approached, as though she was a rare creature easily startled to hide from the world. He took the necklace from her, cradled the pendant in his rosary bound hand, leaning in close to inspect it. So close, Mary felt his body heat, saw the smooth fabric of his steel blue shirt in her peripheral vision; even smelled the fresh, woody fragrance of the fabric softener and the leathery scent of his prayer bead chain. A hint of bergamot shower gel, too…

She had to shake off the feeling of getting lost in these impressions that were tempting to distract her from the current conversation.

“It’s my most cherished possession. And the only thing I have left of my sister. I was so scared I was gonna lose it in all that mess before the bombs fell.”

For some reason her heart did a little twirl when the corner of Joseph’s mouth quirked. “I’ve wondered what you had hidden on this necklace.” His blue eyes rose and entrapped her. “It’s beautiful.”

There was something about his voice when he said it. Mary realized she couldn’t breathe. Her spine tingled and her skin flushed. Her voice cracked as she tried to speak, desperate to change the subject as intuition told her something was about to happen.

“W-What a-about you, Joseph?”

“Hmm?”

If she hadn’t been squirming so much in her skin, she would have laughed about finally witnessing the megalomaniac prophet being confused.

“Any fa-family traditions growing up?” Why was her heart stammering as much as her mouth? What was wrong with her? “You asked me...now it’s your turn to spill.”

“Oh...right,” Joseph said. He sighed, placing the necklace delicately back on her chest, his fingers brushing her collarbone as he stepped back, and it felt like a bolt of electricity to Mary.

 _Get a grip!_ she chastised herself. She coughed up the next best thought she could think of.

“So...anything other than growing beards?”

“What’s wrong with growing beards?” He stroked his thoughtfully while fixing her with his eyes.

“Nothing, just thought it was a weird family tradition to have…I mean the Samson family didn’t grow beards for the holidays, that was such a Santa thing to do. I always figured you Peggies grew them to keep mosquitos away. Nasty little buggers.”

A short chuckle escaped him at her suggestion. 

“It’s not a family tradition, although it easily could have been. It simply came with our faith in returning to more innocent, less complicated times. Shaving wasn’t exactly on top of people’s ‘to-do list’ when they were mostly focused on their daily tasks such as working and praying and less on vanity and hedonism. We didn’t actually forbid razors or shaving by the way, we left the decision to each individual to decide for themselves.”

“And here I thought you had run out of razors to raid in Hope County. Or opened your very own ‘local beard worshipper’s club’. Certainly would have made the only barber in town a filthy rich man...”

The Father snorted. “Certainly not. They were one less thing we had to collect, leaving us with more time for essential resources.”

“How are razors _not_ essential? Ever thought about all those poor Peggie ladies that wouldn’t be able to shave their legs?”

Joseph raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into his receding hairline...which was quite the feat.

“I’m...actually not sure if you’re serious right now or not.”

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” Mary cheekily offered. She was still bummed about the missing razors. _Thank God_ she wasn’t a Peggie…nothing and no one would ever come between her and shaving her legs. _No kiwi legs for you, girl. Nope. Never gonna happen!_

“So...what _other_ traditions - besides growing the mandatory family beard - did you have?”

He looked pensive for a moment, leaving Mary to fiddle with her pendant.

“I can hardly remember it now, but when I was really young my grandparents took Jacob and me to church. Not much of a tradition, but it’s the only one I can recall. After they passed away and after John was born, Jacob and I would take John and sneak out of the house to go see the Christmas lights around town.”

“What about after you found your brothers later?” Mary asked, an ache consuming her heart.

“Not really any traditions although quite a few interesting holidays.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the first year after we reunited, John had to use his talents to get Jacob out of jail for punching a Santa Claus. Later that night, John took us to this fancy coffee house. They end up arguing over the difference between an Americano and black coffee, which was quite entertaining. I imagine, despite our quite different paths in life, Jacob and I were still country bumpkins and John the sophisticated city-slicker. He was almost offended Jacob couldn’t taste the difference between pressed coffee and drip coffee.”

Watching his melancholic expression as he recalled the memory hurt her. If she had listened to him in the beginning, his brothers would be with him...so many of her friends would be here with her. She had messed it all up, like she always did. Just like she did with Sarah…

Mary honestly didn’t know what to say. Instead, she did the only other thing that felt right. She reached up and touched his arm, short, soft, enough to pull him from his memories and look at her again. She smiled sadly at him and went over to the kitchen table, suddenly feeling she needed to be alone. Not only because she felt it in her bones something would happen if she stayed any longer, but also because she felt horrible for what she had done. Guilt had been plaguing her for a long while, but tonight it was simply suffocating her.

She picked up the poetry book and held it to her chest. “It’s late...we should get some rest. Thank you for the nice evening and dinner. For a post-apocalyptic Christmas, this wasn’t too bad.”

Joseph’s look told her he knew what was bothering her, and again she hated his perceptiveness. “You’re welcome,” came his quiet reply.

Without another word, she retreated into her bedroom, trying to shut out the crippling guilt she felt, heart banging around her ribcage like a wild animal needing to be freed.

 

* * *

 

_“ To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,_

_One clover, and a bee,_

_And revery._

_The revery alone will do,_

_If bees are few."_

 

How odd. Had Dutch dogeared this poem? Or Joseph? Frowning in thought, Mary shut the book and looked at the title, brushing her fingers over the name of the poet, lost in thought.

**_Emily Dickinson._ **

_Huh. Didn't peg you for reading flowery poetry, old man. Certainly fooled me, ya old pain-in-the-arse drill sergeant,_ she thought fondly, smiling sadly. _Talk about a closet softie..._

She opened the book again to another dog eared page.

_“I measure every Grief I meet…”_

_Nope, not gonna read that, had enough grief to last me a lifetime,_ **_thankyouverymuch_ ** _._ She quickly moved onto the next bookmarked one a few pages further.

 

 _“_ _Come slowly—Eden_

_Lips unused to Thee—_

_Bashful—sip thy Jessamines_

_As the fainting Bee—_

 

_Reaching late his flower,_

_Round her chamber hums—_

_Counts his nectars—_

_Enters—and is lost in Balms.”_

 

Now she was sure it had to have been Joseph who marked this page. No way would Dutch have willingly read just about anything about 'Eden'...and her local cult overlord slash personal cook wouldn't miss out on _anything_ possibly mentioning Eden. No wonder he had marked it.

“Okay, what else do we have here?” the Deputy wondered out loud, paging further through the well worn book that had clearly been read many times. 

When she found another marked page, she opened it and let her eyes fly over the elegant writing, eagerly soaking up the artful words.

 

_“Wild Nights – Wild Nights!_

_Were I with thee_

_Wild Nights should be_

_Our luxury!_

 

_Futile - the winds -_

_To a heart in port -_

_Done with the compass –_

_Done with the chart!_

 

_Rowing in Eden –_

_Ah, the sea!_

_Might I moor – Tonight –_

_In thee!”_

 

Mary blushed to the tip of her hair, not even sure why. Why on earth had he marked this one? _Oh yes, right...Eden. That again. Guy sure is obsessed_ , she snorted to herself. Who knows if anything he’s been raving about will ever come to pass anyway...

 _He’s already been right about the seven seals and the apocalypse,_ a small but assertive voice whispered in her mind. _He could be right about Eden, too…_

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she mumbled to herself, closing the book for the night with a loud clap. It had to have been one of Dutch’s go-to poetry books that he read to distract himself from his solitude. Joseph seemed to have liked it, too. Maybe she would read a few more poems in the coming days; it wasn’t like she was in a hurry or had anything better to do down here.

Just as she had placed the book on the nightstand - next to the chair with her makeshift Advent wreath that just consisted of four matching red candles she had found in a drawer - a knock sounded from the door.

She froze in the middle of her movement. The Deputy shortly considered pretending to be asleep, but gave up that thought quickly when she remembered she’d been in her room for probably less than an hour, so he’d probably be able to guess that she was still awake.

"Y-Yes?"

"It's me."

Mary rolled her eyes, slipping under her blanket, pulling it over her lap.

"Obviously. What do you need?"

"May I come in?"

She looked down at herself. Mary had already slipped into her pyjama pants and gotten ready for bed before she’d paged through the borrowed book. She wasn’t really up for conversation anymore at this late hour. The sad memories of both of their lost families had worn her out on top of everything else.

“Can’t it wait until morning? I’m almost asleep already.”

“No. I’m here to give you your Christmas gift.”

“M-My gift? What gift? I didn’t know there were gonna be gifts! Nobody ever tells me anything around here anyway...”

“Sorry I’m late. Had to wrap it first,” came his dry, slightly muffled reply.

 _What could he possibly be needing to wrap?_ Mary wondered cluelessly. _And wrap it with_ **_what_ ** _? Toilet paper?_ That was pretty much the only wrapable material they had down here. Plenty of it, too. Enough to wrap one of the smaller moons of Uranus. Cupid, for instance. _Some gift that’ll be_ , she thought amusedly. _Would be the first time I get a gift wrapped in toilet paper...guess there’s a first time for everything._

“So...can I come in?”

“Um...I was just about to turn off the light.” To make a point, she flicked off the large lamp illuminating most of the room, leaving her with only the soft light coming from her improvised Advent wreath on the chair next to her nightstand.

A low chuckle came from the other side of the door. “Don’t worry, this won’t take long. And I’m sure you’ll like my gift.”

With a small sigh, Mary admitted defeat with a wary “Fine. Come in,” only to be followed by a mumbled “....this gift better be good.”

She hadn’t even finished saying that last bit when the door opened and a tall shadow stepped in, closing the door behind him. He lingered at the door, taking in the view.

“Guess you really were getting ready for bed, after all. And here I thought you were just trying to get rid of me.” There was no mistaking the obvious amusement in his voice as he stepped closer.

The Deputy crossed her arms. “You thought I was gonna lie? I wouldn’t lie...on Christmas.”

“Hmm.” He seemed unconvinced. “I see you’ve been getting into the holiday spirit...” His dark shape pointed at the four candles she had lit. She turned her head to look at them.

“Yeah...my Christmas deco was kinda last-minute…had to improvise. Dutch clearly wasn’t a fan of tinsel, and there’s no way I’m engarlanding this place in toilet paper angel cut-outs.”

The snort that escaped him painted a small smile on her face. The light was so low that it took her a moment to realize something was different.

“What...what happened to your beard?” She gaped like a fish.

The Father raised his hand to touch his recently trimmed facial hair. 

“You don’t like it?” He sat down on her bed, close but just far enough away to not be intrusive.

“No, I just...it’s so weird. I’m so used to seeing you with this big bushy thing in your face. It’s...odd. I’m not used to seeing you like this.” She leaned forward to take a closer look. “But it looks...good. Really. It will just take some getting used to.” 

Where there had been a dark beard that gave him a stern and authoritarian appearance before, much shorter stubbles now covered his jaw and cheeks, giving him a much more open and - dare she think it? - normal look. Good grief! Had she had a drop too many earlier when she and Joseph had some wine with dinner? _Joseph. Looking normal._

 _Like a real, actual, normal guy. Holy shit._ It simply blew her mind how he went from saturnine doomsday prophet to _Men’s Health_ cover model in just half an hour, just with a careful trim of his beard. Joseph seemed pleased with her surprise and reluctant approval.

“I just wanted to show you that the beard thing was never mandatory for me. I saw it as more of a convenience and a method of saving time for more important things. Except down here...we’ve got nothing _but_ time. Might as well go for some variety. So I trimmed mine a bit. There’s plenty of time to grow it back.”

“Please don’t tell me that this is my gift,” the Deputy deadpanned. “You said you had to wrap it, too. But I see no wrapping paper.”

The Father surprised her by laughing out loud, a genuine, broad smile on his face. Mary was equal parts fascinated and stunned. Her stomach flip-flopped. _Down, girl. This is dangerous ground…_

“No. As much as I hate to disappoint you. But no, it isn’t. And I’m afraid the ‘wrapping’ bit was more of a metaphor for preparing it rather than using actual gift paper.”

The Deputy leaned forward, looking around him. The cult leader offered her a questioning look.

“So where is it? I was promised a gift. Where do you have it?”

He smiled mysteriously. 

“Patience. Good things come to those who wait.” He patted the bed beside him. “Sit with me.”

She threw him a suspicious glance, but when he just looked at her expectantly w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ s̶t̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶b̶l̶u̶e̶ e̶y̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶m̶m̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶m̶ ̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶s̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶z̶y̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶d̶l̶e̶s̶, she didn’t understand why she still questioned his motives. Had he not proven to her that he could be sincere? Had he not taken care of her when she was sick? 

He could just have left her to suffer for herself and stuck to his meditations, not giving a damn about whether or not she felt sick. But he chose to take care of her. That had to be worth something...instinctively Mary knew that it was about time to let go of her knee jerk reaction of always expecting the worst from him. They had long since become something like allies. Even if it was for a lack of better options...

Mary decided to stop being so overly cautious and scrambled over the bed sheets until she came to sit on her heels beside him, waiting for the big reveal, hands in her lap. He turned towards her, taking in her curious expression.

“I’ve thought about what you told me earlier. About your sister.” He didn’t miss her flinching from being reminded of painful memories once again. The Father reached out to her hands, grabbing one to soothe her. The Deputy looked at their joined hands, confused. He shortly squeezed it, making her look up at him.

“I understand that you feel guilty about something...you did. Something that affected your sister badly. And that you feel guilty about what you did to my family. What you did in good faith that it was necessary, even if it was completely misguided.” He took a deep breath, thinking for a moment. His hawk-like eyes rested on her face as Mary held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

“While there is nothing I can do for you to change whatever happened to Sarah, there _is_ something that I can offer you. If you want it.” His eyes searched hers for a long moment, taking in her anticipation. His other hand moved to rest over hers, trapping it between his two palms. Her gaze turned questioning.

“W-What is it?”

“Something you need. Something you want but secretly think you do not deserve.” His thumb brushed over her hand once before he pushed on.

Mary’s curiosity spiked. “Yes…?”

“A clean slate.”

“A clean slate?”

“Yes. Not in the way I offered it before. The civility, the pushing aside of differences for the sake of peaceful coexistence and survival down here...that was bilateral pragmatism. It was cold, clinical logic. Two survivors depending on each other. Ignoring feelings of hurt, anger, and even hatred in favour of forgiveness because it’s what the Lord demands... **_that_ ** was obedience. But that kind of forgiveness isn’t ‘real’ forgiveness now, is it? Not the kind you crave. The one that is given willingly. Especially if the wound is still so fresh and burns so fiercely. You cannot order your heart to do things it refuses to, deep down. Maybe you can force your mind, but never the heart.”

Joseph seemed lost in thoughts for a moment as the Deputy listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. It took the preacher a moment to gather himself before he continued.

“While I might have been able to forgive you in my head, it took me much longer to open up my heart to the idea. But I think I’m ready now. I offer you my forgiveness. **_This_ **...is my gift.” He looked up from their joined hands to gauge her reaction.

A long silence followed as Mary’s mind tried to catch up on what exactly he was offering.

“Your forgiveness?”

“Yes. A completely new, clean slate. My heart is ready to forgive you and move on, despite the crippling pain I still feel over the loss of my family. I know you want it. Need it, too, even if you don’t realize it...but you feel too guilty to even ask for it. **_Truly_** ask for it. I know you said you were sorry before, but deep down...you don’t really think you deserve it. That you have made too many mistakes to be forgiven. But even the Lord offers forgiveness to those whose remorse is true and pure.”

Mary’s chest ached terribly at the truth of his words. Breathing suddenly felt harder. She just stared at him as he took in the gears clearly working in her mind. He smiled a sad, little smile.

“Someone too smart for his own good once told me, ‘the best gift isn’t the one you get-”

“-it’s the one you give.”

His smile widened, the sadness of it slowly bleeding away as he squeezed her hand for a moment. “Exactly. Which is why this gift makes me so happy. It isn’t entirely selfless, I admit. If I absolve you, it isn’t solely for your benefit, but also in part for mine, in a way. I’ll no longer have to suffer the burden to carry all that anger in my heart. You’ll free me off it if you accept my gift. If you want it, that is.”

A moment trickled by.

“Do you?”

The Deputy’s gaze was glassy when he looked at her, awaiting her reply.

 

* * *

 

The silence lasted a few moments longer as her brain processed the significance and depth of what he offered her. She wanted forgiveness, yes. And she **_did_ ** believe that she didn’t really deserve it. And yet, here he was...about to give her the only thing she wanted more than anything else right now. 

Mary struggled to swallow around the insurmountable knot that suddenly seemed to have formed in her throat. Breathing became hard, and her chest felt so constricted that she felt like she would faint if the invisible chains holding her prisoner tightened any further. And then, the words fell from her lips that Joseph had to have been waiting for: ”Yes, I do.” 

Her voice broke at the last word, and with horror she realized she had tears running down her cheeks, torrid and salty. Her guilt was overflowing and burning its way over her face like a stream made out of regret and crystal clear lava.

The Deputy couldn’t hold back the sobs any more that had been suffocating her from the inside just a minute ago, and she quickly hid her crumbling face in her hands. In an instant, she felt his hands on her shoulders, pulling her body to him, cradling her in his arms as she just wanted to die out of shame and regret. Her sobbing wasn’t even subtle anymore at this point, it was loud, full of desperation and heartbreak, like the floodgates inside her had been opened and everything that had accumulated over the past few months finally broke free.

She found herself sitting curled up in his lap after he’d pulled her close, one arm curled around her back while the other stroked her hair as she kept her face hidden against his shoulder. Her eyes leaked uncontrollably and stained his shirt midnight blue wherever her tears touched it. 

Mary lost all sense of the passing of time as she wept so hard she hiccuped her way through her crushing grief. The only constant she felt all the way through was the feeling of being safe and protected; the warm, supportive hug she was wrapped in while the last of her remaining walls disintegrated to dust as Joseph comforted her silently. He seemed to understand that no words could ease the agonizing feeling of having your heart put through a meat grinder and your soul crushed in a mortar at the same time; instead, he chose to just console her with his quiet patience, stroking her back slowly as she cried her eyes out.

 

* * *

 

Joseph held the Deputy in his arms, feeling more helpless than he let on. This hadn’t exactly gone as planned. He came to Mary with the intention of making her happy. The sole purpose of of his gift had been to alleviate some of her guilt, at least the part that he could help her with. It was Christmas after all, _the_ holiday to celebrate love, family and forgiveness. 

He’d even gone so far as to imagine it would make her smile at him and maybe even initiate a hug as a way to thank him. What he’d ended up with was a situation he had not foreseen: she practically unraveled in his arms as the heavy burden was taken from her shoulders while reliving it all at the same time. All he could do now was offer his empathy and calm presence to solace her as his fingers carded through her hair.

Even though he at first thought his efforts to be fruitless when she cried harder than he had seen anyone cry in a long time, he could feel her relax slowly in his arms, all strength and fight driven from her with the sheer effort of not drowning in her own pain and misery. One of her arms was curled tightly around his waist as her other one was folded against his chest, her weeping face hidden out of view. 

Eventually, her sobs became quiet hiccups and shortly after, low sniffles. Mary seemed to have calmed down and let out the worst of what had been upsetting her. Now as she lay curled up in his arms, feeble and exhausted, her breathing evening out, he thought it safe to speak again.

“Feeling better?”

She gave no answer, obviously not trusting her voice yet, but nodded weakly.

“Glad to hear it. You had me worried there for a minute.” He petted the back of her head one last time before planting a swift kiss on the top of her hair. There was no mistaking the short flinching of her body at his unexpected show of affection, but he was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t last and she quickly relaxed again, her breath becoming even calmer than before.

“So...I take it, you like my present then?”

The watery laugh and following sniffle was all the reply he needed, and the preacher thought she would remain quiet, but Mary chose to speak up after clearing her throat and wiping the last remaining tears from her face with the back of her hand.

“You know, this is by far the lousiest gift I ever got. Pretty sure a runny nose was nowhere on my Christmas wish list.” The Deputy sniffled loudly to make a point.

He chuckled, relieved that she had recovered enough to be joking again already. The Father fished for a handkerchief in his pocket, handing it to her. Mary grabbed it and blew her nose noisily, mumbling a muffled “thank you” between two blows.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I picked up the naughty list by accident.” 

Seeing her so upset before had his stomach plummet to unfathomable depths; the last thing on his mind tonight had been to make her unhappy, so he was more than glad she had found her footing again after being wrecked by sobs for what had to be a good ten minutes straight.

“Naughty, me? Where did you hear that?” came the reply, full of false indignation, voice still thick and nasal from the previous crying.

“Must have heard it through the grapevine,” Joseph smiled slyly.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” The Deputy seemed to realize her position only now as she pushed herself up and frowned at the wet, dark stains on his shirt. “Sorry about that.” She tried to wipe the stains away with her hands, despite it being useless.

He looked down to where she rubbed nervously at his shirt. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry yourself with that. You clearly needed to do what you did, and everything’s fine.”

“Yeah...if anyone knows how to make a mess out of things, it’s me.” Mary looked away, embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable at still being held in such an intimate way.

His hand reached up to push some hair that had fallen in her face out of the way and behind her ear, mercifully covering her still red and swollen eyes. She lowered her eyes, still feeling awkward over having clung to him like a lifeline. The preacher took in her sudden shyness that resulted from having let him get so close, close enough to see the Mary _without_ any protective barriers. And he liked what he saw behind these crumbled walls. A much softer, vulnerable Mary with a big heart - a heart that could forgive everyone but herself.

“I’m glad you accepted my gift. It’s not really Christmas without any gifts, is it?”

“Yeah...I wish we had at least a tree down here...even just a plain fir without any embellishments would have been fine. Or just a twig of a fir. I just have my shabby Advent wreath.”

Joseph gave her a long, probing look before he leaned closer. “There’s only one thing that I miss down here,” he murmured. The back of his hand found her face, caressing up and down her cheek.

“A mistletoe,” he whispered-

-before leaning in and melting his lips to hers.

 

* * *

 

Mary’s brain shut down the moment Joseph’s mouth touched hers, bringing all ongoing thinking processes to a screeching halt. Warm lips explored hers unhurriedly as she sat stock-still in his lap, eyes wide open and unable to think. One moment they were talking about the lack of Christmas decor down here, the next his lips claimed hers like it was the most natural thing in the world to him.

 _What’s happening?_ A slightly shrill, hysterical voice shrieked in her mind. _Is this a dream? It can’t be real! He’d never-_  

She realized it to be very much real when the prophet began to softly nibble and slightly pull on her upper lip with his teeth, trying not-so-subtly to get her to respond to him. The Deputy was frozen, shocked, like a rabbit cornered by a snake all this time, eyes wide like saucers. 

Still trying to get over her surprise, her mind derailed completely when Joseph softly but insistently caressed his tongue over her lips, demanding entrance. His insanity must’ve rubbed off on her, because after one last, long moment of hesitancy, her instincts won out; she closed her eyes and kissed him back, allowing his tongue access as he held her face in his hands like some rare treasure.

The Father clearly didn’t intend to waste any time since he accepted her invitation instantly, his tongue making itself at home in her mouth even as she was still reeling from the rapid and unexpected turn of events that sent her adrenaline spiking through the roof - or whatever counted as the roof while trapped underground - and her belly into the tingly equivalent of a rollercoaster. 

And what a rollercoaster ride it was: electrifying excitement like the slow but steady rise to the highest peak when his tongue nudged hers playfully before taking the inevitable, stomach dropping plunge into an abyss of ecstasy when they sucked on each others lips like drowning people sucking in their last breath of air, each mouth fighting for dominance over the other. Now that the last step had been taken, the last wall had been torn down, any reluctance or hesitance on both sides was gone. It was almost as if their earlier stubborn tug-of-war from months ago had returned, both of them fighting for the upper hand while secretly hoping to be overwhelmed by the other.

Considering how long it had taken them to even get there, now that they _were,_ in fact, kissing, they certainly ended up doing it like it was going out of fashion. Just as he started to pull back a little to give them both the chance to come up for air - frankly, breathing was **_so_ ** overrated in her opinion - Mary panicked that their little bout of tender insanity was already coming to an end and Joseph going back to being the only responsible adult in the bunker after this little “slip-up”.

_Please...God, please...don’t stop now, dammit!_

Her subconsciousness seemed to already have made up its mind to like what Joseph had started. Mary pressed against him, and he wasted no time in pulling her closer to his frame, wrapping both of his arms around her shoulders as she wrapped hers around his waist. While he had caught her completely off-guard with his actions, his unexpected affections weren’t unwelcome - in fact, the longer and more deeply they kissed - hello tonsils, glad you could make it tonight - it felt like she should have seen it coming from _miles_ away. The build-up over the past few weeks had been so incredibly **palpable** it was astonishing it had taken so long for the dam to break and the tension to boil over.

And now that the threshold had finally been crossed...now there was no holding back - not that she wanted him to. All she was aware of at this moment was the warmth of his embrace, his close physical presence and smell, that characteristic mix of soapy bergamot and heady musk that was just _him,_ and the incredible comfort these sensations brought to her. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so...accepted. And by Joseph Seed of all people. The world had really turned upside down…but somehow, it felt so right. Like it was always meant to be this way…

For the second time that night, the Deputy lost all feeling for how much time had transpired, but this time felt _infinitely better._ While she had felt all of her grief flooding out of her earlier, now it felt like the giant emptiness she had afterwards was slowly filling with something else. First warmth, then affection and then…could it be…?

When she became aware of the hard bulge underneath her that was clearly _not_ lying to her, there was no mistaking what they both felt...one of the cardinal sins, one the Seeds all had seemed to carry and which had now spread to her like wildfire: Lust.

Had someone told her that three months ago - back when Joseph had dragged her below the surface to hibernate here for the next seven years as the world around them met its fiery end - that they would end up sucking faces like teenagers, she would have laughed at them hysterically until she peed herself, or had them committed. Maybe even both. Now though...now she wasn’t laughing.

Instead she clung to Joseph, both thrilled and eager to see where this... _interesting development_...would take them. All reasonable thinking had flown out of the imaginary window (no windows down in a bunker, much to her chagrin) the second he started kissing her, so why spoil their moment by trying to get back control over her tumbling thoughts and feelings?

And **_interesting indeed_ ** it seemed to become when she felt his hands start to change pace from drawing slow circles on her back while kissing her to sliding down to her hips first, gripping them firmly for the longest blink of an eye before sliding up towards her waist where his hands sneaked under the hem of her t-shirt. Mary was grateful that he proved, once again, to be a human furnace indeed as she felt his pleasantly warm fingers on her flat belly, fanning out towards her rips, softly caressing the smooth skin underneath his palms. Her mind went feverish and fuzzy at the feel of his feathery touch on her heated skin as they continued kissing like they were trying to steal the breath out of each other’s mouths.

 _Well that escalated quickly_ , Mary couldn’t help feeling thrilled inside her as one of his hands continued its trail north, slowly, inch by inch, before cupping her left breast tentatively over her bra for a long moment as if giving her time to get used to the idea before she felt his fingers squeeze her softly, his lips lazily nibbling on her lower lip. Both of these things simultaneously did something to her stomach, making it tumble, falter, drop and skip all at once, bundling everything together into a feeling of non-ignorable arousal almost sickening in its intensity. 

The next instant, their mouths finally parted for much-needed air, both of them breathing heavily. The cult leader clearly seemed to share her sensations if his low, drawn-out groan was anything to go by when his hand that had been resting on her waist slipped back down to her hip to grind her against the growing hardness underneath her backside; her wriggling in his lap as they got lost in their kissing duel had certainly done its part in feeding his... _enthusiasm_ . Had Mary not been so swept away by what they had been doing up until a minute ago, she might have been intimidated by his boldness and the sheer _size_ of the present still wrapped up in the confinement of his tight black jeans.

 _Must have been a good girl after all,_ the Deputy couldn’t help inwardly snickering. She wanted to facepalm, slap herself and giggle nervously all at the same time at her own silly joke. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), all that smooching had left her mind feeling drunk and her lips swollen, and she prayed - ** _prayed!_** \- that they would continue together down that road they had begun to take after all these months of gradual bonding. 

Mary wouldn’t know what to do with herself if Joseph suddenly decided to stop, excuse himself that he had taken their ‘talk’ too far and take care of things in the privacy of his own room, now that she had finally gotten a taste of what he had to offer. She’d probably end up storming into the freezer room to sneak a popsicle from their provisions and do unspeakable things to it - or have it do to her. There was no way to tell what her frustration would end up making her do if he left now, but it wouldn’t be pretty. More on the messy, possibly even murderous side.

Long story short: there was no way she was letting him change his mind now. _Hell no!_ With a determined grasp, the Deputy grabbed his face and smashed their lips back together, surprising him with her resolve.

Thankfully, Joseph caught up quickly and met her with equal fervor, much to Mary’s contentment. Their kissing match resumed its previous intensity, all doubts about the destination of their passionate journey swiped away by silent, mutual agreement. 

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when the Deputy found herself straddling the preacher, arms wrapped around his neck and mouth molded to his while his arm slowly slid down from her hip, following her curves to her firm butt where he unashamedly rested his wandering fingers to squeeze his coveted prize. She hummed approvingly, enjoying the game of his tongue chasing hers in the delicious confines of her mouth. She couldn’t stop herself from intentionally teasing him, making him squirm under the pressure of her crotch pushing down on the most eager parts of his anatomy. His groan _almost_ sounded painful, and Mary _almost_ took pity in his uncomfortable entrapment... _almost._ But not quite. Whoever said she was a saint?

 _Nobody who knows me, that’s for sure._ She pushed down harder, earning her another, equally pained and pleasured exhale from the preacher.

_That’s for making me jumpy and nervous and awkward all these weeks, you jerk!_

The Deputy passionately bit down on his lip, pulling on it with her teeth before plunging back into his mouth, wrestling his tongue into temporary submission. The Father seemed overwhelmed by her determination for a moment, pulling his face from her embrace, breathing like a winning sprinter on his home stretch. _Good God, is he hyperventilating? He better not be fainting now and leave me high and dry or else I’m gonna have to do some seriously intense CPR...with a rusty tire inflator. He’s_ **_not_ ** _getting away this time!_

But it turned out her worries were completely unfounded, for the next thing she was aware of was his husky voice, hissing a barely restrained “Off!” into her ear as she felt his hands insistently tug on the hem of her t-shirt.

She made a move as if to grab the fabric between his hands to pull it over her head when she stopped herself at the last moment. Slyly, the Deputy leaned in and whispered back, lips touching his ear shell.

“You first...Joseph.”

 

* * *

 

The Father locked eyes with his former captive. Saw her agitation, her nervousness...and her eagerness. After all this time, he couldn’t believe this was really it. She was ready. She was willing. And kinda impatient, looking down to the buttons of his shirt - as if mentally unbuttoning them because he was waiting too long - and back up to his eyes. A part of him felt giddy at the thought of finally being close to her - he’d be damned if he let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He _wanted_ her. And he would have her.

He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent, clearly tinged with a sprinkle of arousal.

“As you wish.”

He began unbuttoning his shirt, way too slowly for even his own liking since his hands were kinda shaky with anticipation. When he was fiddling with the second button that wouldn’t open, her patience broke and she helped unbuttoning the rest of them, almost ripping the shirt apart in the process. Joseph couldn’t help an amused twitch of his lips which she would have picked up on had she not been so busy pulling the sleeves off his arms since he was obviously taking too long in her opinion. The shirt was quickly disposed of and thrown across the room, forgotten until the next morning.

Once the Father had been liberated from the annoying scrap of fabric blocking her view, the Deputy took in his tattoos from close up, as if she saw them for the first time. Somehow, it seemed to hit home the thought of what they were about to do, and her mind cleared a bit from the fog of passion. Her demeanor became almost shy, even though she didn’t take her eyes off his tattoos. She lay her hands in her lap and just looked at them, then raised her eyes to look into his. Was she looking for encouragement? Permission?

He reached out with his hands and grabbed her by the wrists, leading her hands to his chest. Before he pressed her palms against his warm skin, he kissed each of her knuckles, wordlessly searching her face. Joseph knew he had to give her all the time that she needed to get used to the close contact, or else she might change her mind at the last minute and run. So he waited, loosely holding her wrists, thumbs stroking her skin.

Him giving her some space seemed to help her make her mind up, and after a moment Mary slipped her hands out of his loose grip, only to grab his own and lead them to the hem of her shirt. There was no mistaking what she asked him for, and he gladly followed her silent request. He pulled the hem up and her t-shirt along with it, slow enough to give her time to stop him, and fast enough to keep a lid on his impatience. He had waited for so long, what difference did a few seconds more make now?

Seconds later, the shirt was gone and the Deputy stripped down to a bra and a pair of pyjama pants. The Father’s hands reached out to touch her neck, curling both hands around it in a manner that would have been threatening in a different context, but this time, it was entirely non-violent; instead, it held a touch of admiration and not a small dose of affection as he bracketed her neck between his hands, brushing her skin with his thumbs. 

Mary held his intense eyes hostage with hers as she slowly raised her arms to grab his wrists that held onto her neck, holding them in place. A long moment passed between them, just looking at each other. Then, as if on silent command, they both moved forward, resuming their dance of tongues and teeth and mouths, not caring who would win (they both would) or succumb (they both would). 

Joseph hummed with satisfaction when he felt her stroking her hands over his freshly trimmed beard (more like, stubbly cheeks and chin); she was clearly appreciating his last-minute Christmas surprise for her. There were no mosquitos to scare off down here anyway...and he liked surprising her, especially since she seemed to think she had him all figured out when it was actually the other way around.

Joseph was positively amazed by how eager the woman in his arms was to get things going, almost more than he was. With how his former captive pressed herself against his body, arms slung around his neck and hanging from his lips, one could easily have forgotten how they had started out. The Father had no words to describe how grateful and happy he was that those circumstances had changed for the better - for both of them.

How he had managed to hold back for so long was beyond him, now that the finishing line that he had been chasing for weeks finally came into sight. Joseph could easily get addicted to kissing Mary. It was like their mouths (and the rest of them) were made for each other. Even if he had been given free choice among all the other possible survivors out there, this was the only mouth he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life.

 _The Lord truly works in mysterious and wonderful ways…_ The Father was awed once more by the puzzle pieces, jagged as they were, coming together in such an unexpected but beautiful way.

The Deputy pushed even closer now, holding his fully awakened hardness captive under her weight, making him groan for a number of reasons, and not all of them unpleasant.

_Looks like it’s time to move on to the main event…_

 

* * *

 

Mary had completely melted into Joseph’s lap as their makeout session progressed, growing increasingly hot and bothered. While she combed her fingers through his loose long hair she felt his hands wander down her nearly bare back and couldn’t suppress a pleasant shudder when they kissed as if there was a prize to be won to memorize each other’s taste for the rest of eternity. 

Well, they’d certainly be fresh out of competition for _that_ one, apocalypse aside and all. There was just no way anybody else on this planet - dead or alive - would be kissing with as much zeal and focus as they did. It was as if they had saved up all of their mutual frustration and magically turned it into pure, red-hot passion instead. And good Gawwwd...could that man _kiss_ . It **had** to be illegal in pretty much every state - including Montana! - for a preacher, _a man of God_ who was supposed to be _pious_ and _chaste_ and about a million other boring things, to be such a good kisser.

 _Should’ve arrested him for that offense alone_ , the Deputy couldn’t stop pondering amusedly. Then again, those tattoos and lowriders surely had to be criminal as well...

This time around, when his hands reached their destination far south of her waist, instead of coming to a rest on her clothed butt as she’d expected, his fingers had slipped under the waistband of her pyjama pants, groping the soft, warm flesh underneath. As much as she enjoyed the firm kneading of her behind, the Deputy hoped he wouldn’t drag this out for she was getting impatient with how long it seemed to take to peel each other’s clothes off. She shifted off her haunches, none-too-subtly shaking her butt from side to side to signal him to get rid of her pants. The preacher instantly picked up on her intention and easily rolled down the waistband, effectively peeling her out of her pants like some exotic (if clumsy) fruit as she broke their kiss only to shed the hindering piece of garment, almost dislocating her shoulder and losing her balance as she threw it across the room in her ardor. Joseph’s arm caught her around the waist before she could fall off the bed. Oops. 

_Bad time for sex accidents, Emmy. Get a grip!_

The Deputy blushed when she heard his unmistakable low chuckle. Left with only her bra and panties on, she wasted no time crawling back in his lap. _I’ll show you having a laugh at my expense, Mister._  

Mary went in for the kill, pushing herself against Joseph until the wide, tattooed chest of his flattened her breasts, stealing his breath for a few precious seconds. While he was distracted and his view pleasantly obstructed, she sneakily shoved a small hand past his waistband....only to blush hard a split second later. _Oh. OH._

The cult leader hissed, clearly intrigued by this turn of events. 

Sooo...the Father was a fan of going commando then. Who would have guessed? And more importantly, was there **_nothing_ ** holy anymore? What _had_ this world come to if men of God like the only surviving Seed brother got away being tattooed and armed to their teeth while going commando under their Unholy Lowriders of Evil Temptation™? The cheek of it. The balls. Seriously.

No wonder it had all gone to hell. Not that she was complaining or anything...not if it had gotten her into his lap and welcoming arms.

Grumpily she had to admit if was her own fault for assuming things about him when she didn’t know nearly as much about him as she thought. More angry at herself then at him she grabbed his stubbly jaw with her free hand to snog the living daylights out of this lucky bastard as she decided to have him pay for having a little laugh at her clumsiness.

Her unwavering grip on things quickly shut down any further ideas of laughing about her little mishap and instead had him gasp loudly (seriously Joe, what are the neighbours gonna think? Tut tut.) at her purposeful touch. 

_Gotcha, mofo. Not so talkative anymore, are we? Wish I had known that whenever he tried to give me a sermon in the past. Gosh, that would have been so embarrassing. What with all that audience in the church...but totally worth it if it shuts him up this good and, well, go me!_

Mary’s hand gripped a bit tighter, spreading the wetness her fingers had brushed when her hands pushed past his waistband. It took her a moment to realize the size of the revelation in his pants waiting to be unleashed and brought to daylight. _Good grief!_ As she kept stroking him with torturously slow moves and felt the effect she had on him firsthand, she couldn’t help feeling a bit intimidated. 

_Is that even his final form? God have mercy!_

Her strokes only accelerated at a snail’s pace, clearly tormenting the preacher if his eyes rolling back in his skull was any indication. Many strokes and smooches later, Joseph had reached his limits. He needed her, now.

 

* * *

 

She _was_ craving this. Craved being close to him - as close as physically possible. Not a fiber separating them from each other. 

The Deputy shuddered when she felt his hands brush down her sides, down her thighs and back up again; then slipping his fingers past the elastic of her panties to touch her. She flinched in his arms, faltering in the fluid movement of her hand for only a second. Mary felt her cheeks flush with an odd mix of excitement and shyness. 

To her defense, it _had_ been a long time. Hope County hadn’t exactly been overrun by eligible bachelors (besides a bunch of nutty beer loving, gun toting, hillbilly conspiracy theorists with flame throwers who shared a weird love for smelly animals - namely skunks -  who weren’t as good at kissing as certain people in this backwater county would have you believe). 

So yes, it had been quite a while. The fact that she was ridiculously turned on by this point didn’t exactly help her reactions get under control. Not that she wanted to control anything at this point anymore. Mary just wanted his hands on her, everywhere, and she wanted it _now_. And judging by the rigid, leaking hard-on still in her hands, she wasn’t the only one who wanted this.

Feeling his fingers probe her most intimate parts was the only thing she could think of right now, and so she gladly pushed against his hand once he’d slipped his own large ones inside her panties. The preacher instantly responded, running his long fingers along her outer lips, getting her used to the pressure and friction of his touch while spreading what moisture had already accumulated from her arousal. 

Had she had any fragment of clear thinking still in tact she probably would have cringed at the obscenely wet noises his ministrations created, but Mary was already way too focused on the feel and warmth of his hands on her most private parts. She loved feeling so vulnerable to his searching hands and waited with baited breath for him to take things further.

Despite having expected it, she yelped loudly when his first digit slipped into her, fast, merciless and confident like its owner. Mary gasped loudly, resting her forehead against his shoulder, embarrassed at being so vocal. The Father echoed her gasp when she unintentionally squeezed the six inches of solid steel in her hand. At first she was worried she might have hurt him, but the wheeze definitely sounded more pleased than pained, so he was clearly doing fine and just surprised by her response.

She’d gladly be guilty of breach of peace if that’s what it took to get this show on the road and Joseph to take off the rest of her (and his) clothes. Despite him just having started, it already felt so good she instantly clamped down on his finger, trying to hold it hostage. Joseph wouldn’t give in so easily though and pulled his slick finger back out, only to push right back in with two. 

This time, the moan that followed _did_ embarrass her, throaty as it sounded. Not that it did stop her - or him. Joseph quickly set a slowly accelerating rhythm that was bound to break her control into a million shards within minutes if she let him. Mary rode his fingers, loving every second of the control he had over her body with his unrelenting, insistently pumping fingers.

Just when she thought she was on her home stretch slowly readying for take-off, his fingers retracted, leaving her confused. Then she realized he was fiddling with his buckle and zipper, trying to get both open as fast as he could. She gave him one last parting squeeze and pulled her hand out of his pants. With both hands free she wasted no time in shimmying out of her panties, just as he managed to free himself from the confines of his tight black jeans. The tiny piece of cotton fabric flew across the room, joining the other discarded clothing on the floor.

Freed from her last protection, she perched herself back on his still clothed thighs. The friction of the rough fabric against her sensitized flesh was exquisite and only increased her slickness. Hastily, as if fearing the other would vanish into thin air like a mirage, they fell into each other’s arms, kissing, hugging and burying their hands in each other’s hair. 

His hand snaked up her back, snapping open the closure of her bra with a flick of his wrist. She was aware of what he was about to do. While Mary was thankful that he gave her an instant to get used to the idea, she was also giddy and brimming with nervous energy, eager to feel his hands and mouth where no man had dared to touch or kiss her since her arrival in Hope County.

The Deputy didn’t twitch when the Father ran his hands up to her arms, looped his fingers under her straps and slowly pulled them off her shoulders. Despite dying for his touch she could feel her heart rate speeding up to a dizzying pace. This was it. 

 _Touch me,_ she silently pleaded. Eyes closed, she blindly leaned forward to touch her forehead to his. She remembered not too long ago, when she had been running a fever, thinking she was burning up from the inside. That had been _nothing_ compared to how she felt now. Mary felt like she had swallowed the sun and only his touch could cool her down to a bearable temperature with his body and mouth, just like he had cooled her down with selfless patience, care, and cool washcloths then.

Mary felt his hand under her chin, raising her head. His thumb brushed her lips as he looked deeply into her eyes as she wore his hands like a warm collar around her throat. His fingers slowly slid down her neck and cleavage, brushing feverish skin in their path. Her breathing faltered the further down they slipped. Then...his fingers caught in the last piece of fabric covering her...pulling it down.

Tossing it behind himself.

She gulped, trying in vain to chase away her suddenly dry mouth. 

His eyes narrowed to laser focus as they followed the movement of her slender throat.

He looked back up into her eyes. Waited for her to come to him as he held her hips in place. A battle of wills of a different kind.

When Mary could no longer take the growing tension, she mirrored his movement from earlier, pulling his hands back up to her now bare breasts; placing them where she wanted them most, giving him silent permission. 

 

* * *

 

Joseph did not disappoint and claimed what was his with a confident squeeze of both of them, looking at them for the first time. He was excited to realize that his fantasies of her hadn’t been far off the real thing. In fact, finally being able to touch her in any way he pleased proved to have been worth the long wait. Mary was perfect for him in any sense of the meaning. 

Her smooth flesh felt pliant and warm under his palms that tenderly caressed over it. His calloused fingertips brushed over her nipples, earning him an audible gasp from the woman he had been lusting after for weeks, puckering up her velvety skin in the wake of his touch. She looked positively ravishing to him with a deep blush colouring her cheeks, waiting breathlessly for him to make the next move. He reached out to comb his fingers through her long brown hair, pushing it behind her ears before leaning down.

He admired the way her nipples puckered up after he’d let his tongue introduce itself to the soft pink nubs, following up each lick with a soft kiss as he looked deeply into her eyes. She leaned as far back as possible, long hair falling down her back. Mary looked like she was either going to faint or come on the spot. As impatient as he was, he wanted to make this special for her, especially considering their rocky history. They’d journeyed a long, rocky road to make it this far. They deserved to enjoy every second of it and not rush things. And he fully intended to give her all the attention she deserved.

A loud moan made its way up her throat when his lips captured a darkened peak in his mouth and sucked hard, his fingers slipping back between them to resume his earlier caresses. One of her hands shot up to tangle itself in his loose hair, pressing his face against her boobs as he licked and sucked them to his heart’s content. The Deputy met him halfway and pushed herself into his mouth as far as physically possible.

Goosebumps broke out on both his and her skin, their bodies mimicking each other. Joseph was pleasantly surprised that the real Mary was just as vocal as her fantasy version had been, letting him know just how much she enjoyed his special treatment. 

The prophet felt like a lost man who had been wandering the desert for days, only to find the saving oasis quenching his thirst moments before dying of thirst. He never wanted to lose the taste of her, wanted to memorize it forever. Everything about this felt so real and so right; if there were any lingering doubts that it was always meant to be this way, he would’ve lost them the moment he tasted her skin.

She was his. Always had been. Always would be. 

 

* * *

 

Mary thought she was losing her mind. The events of the night had been a blur of unexpected twists and turns. Never would she have expected to end the day naked in Joseph Seed’s arms, never in a million years. Yet here she was, squirming in his lap, shoving her breasts in his face as he lapped at them like ice cream. Where and when exactly did things go so terribly right?

She couldn’t help the odd feeling of all of this not being as strange or surprising as she tried to convince herself that it was. It should have creeped her out that her former captor had her straddling him as he buried his face in her bosom, clearly having the time of his life while fingering her in the most delicious ways. But no. Nothing creepy there. 

Just unbridled enthusiasm and lust and want. She wanted Joseph. Had wanted him for quite a while now, no matter how much she had tried to ignore and deny it. She wanted this. All of it. His fingers on and inside her. His mouth on every piece of skin he could reach. And his...most “persuasive” part inside of her. Now. No more stalling.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Mary reluctantly pulled his head away from her breasts. _Damn._ He was too good at this, but there was plenty of time for it later. Her boobs would thank her.

“...but I kinda need you now.”

Mary raised herself up in his lap while he was still in a daze, trying to figure out what she wanted. She wasted no more time and positioned herself over his member, still standing at full attention, nuzzling the head of it with her welcoming entrance. The Father caught on quickly and pulled her closer, grabbing her by her waist as she slowly lowered herself onto him. The bulbous head passed her tight threshold, pushing deeper and deeper, and Mary couldn’t help the pleased hum escaping her throat. He echoed her with a deep groan at feeling her walls enclosing him bit by bit.

And then...he was suddenly sheathed inside her completely. Wrapped up in deep, velvety silkiness. For the very first time, they were one. And for a moment it seemed that time stopped as they stared into each other’s eyes. 

Here they were, in each other’s arms. Former enemies turned lovers after long last. It was the most unreal, unlikely and yet beautiful scenario, and unbeknownst to each other, they both marveled at the same thing. It both stole their breaths and gave them new life all at once.

Fate was truly a funny and inevitable thing.

 

* * *

 

The Father gazed deeply into the eyes of the woman who had just impaled herself on him. He still couldn’t believe it. After all this time, all the fighting and frustration and (not so) hidden wooing, he finally had her. His Mary looking equal parts vulnerable and aroused, beside herself with need as she settled into this new...situation. 

He had been wrong all this time. About Eden’s Gate.

Eden’s Gate wasn’t the place they would live at. Eden’s Gate was his own salvation, in the form of the warm, wet embrace of this woman. Her very core was Eden, and he was finally home. Truly accepted and at peace. This was heaven.

Joseph pulled her closer in his arms, pressed a kiss to her forehead, then one to her neck.

 _“Move,”_ he whispered.

And Mary began to push herself up again, only to be met by his first thrust that almost had her lose control straight away. A loud moan slipped from her lips but quickly got silenced by a searing, noisy kiss. They quickly settled into a harmonious cycle of pushing and thrusting in perfect unison, a well lubricated machine of passion that had them both slippery with sweat and burning up at the same time in an instant. Mary didn’t even seem to be bothered by his zipper chafing against her skin as caught up in their movement as she was. She had abandoned all pretense of control and let him grab her by the waist so he could lead their intimate dance, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, granting him the most enticing view.

Bless that stubborn woman for finally dropping her last walls after all the weeks and months that it took him to knock them down. All his doubts, frustrations and migraines, everything that he had put up with, it had all been worth it if this was the outcome. _More_ than worth it. 

They were truly blessed to have found each other in the most unlikeliest of ways. 

This was the timeless eternity no science or physics could explain and that existed outside of tangible reality. Souls coming together in the way they were always meant to was more than the physical experience of their bodies touching and moving. It was a spiritual event. Their shared kisses and bodily fluids the sacrament that would seal their fates, fusing them together forever...and, by God’s will, have the most joyful consequences.

Mary was the Eve to his Adam, and together they would march through Eden’s Gate. They would be His grateful and most happy servants, doing His will. 

And he was going to savor every second of it.

 

* * *

 

Just as Mary thought they were slowly nearing the finishing line together, she fell backwards as Joseph tipped them over, with him landing on top while still trapped inside of her. Confused and disoriented, she felt him pull out, but that moment passed when she noticed that he had only freed himself from her to strip out of his jeans. They were quickly disposed of, joining the heap of clothes, and faster than she could blink he was back between her legs, looming over her in all his naked glory. 

His hair was sweaty and framing his face wildly, rivulets of sweat ran down his tattooed chest, his chest heaving with the breaths he was trying to catch, effectively erasing any remnants of the image of the untouchable, otherworldly prophet that used to be embossed into her brain. Never had Joseph looked more human and beautiful to her.

“Come ’ere,” the Deputy whispered wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her legs wider for him to settle in. The Father grabbed her thighs, caressing them with strong hands, kissing her ankles before wrapping them around his hips and pushing back inside her. Mary was past any shyness and eagerly responded, meeting him halfway. 

Long forgotten were any of their previous power struggles. She didn’t mind if he dominated her right now, trapping her with his weight and pinning her to the bed. She trusted him.

 

* * *

 

When Joseph entered her again, she instantly clamped down on him like a venus flytrap, not intending to ever let him go again. He never would have guessed the strength hidden within this obstinate woman, but he was feeling it firsthand now. The cult leader picked up their previous rhythm, wasting no further time; he knew they had both been close before, and he intended to see this to a satisfying end for both of them. 

As he pounded his new lover into the mattress below, he couldn’t help but notice the rapturous expression on her face and the way her long hair was spread out over the pillow, like a beautiful dark halo. She was the sinful, errant Madonna to his Delphic, tainted saviour. How fitting and ironic for the both of them: two sinners finding salvation - whilst sinning with each other.

But who was he to question the Lord’s plans and methods?

Their union was quickly nearing its boiling point, and Joseph intended to help this sweet, repentant sinner underneath him reach her goal. His fingers caressed her flat belly before they sneaked between them, pinching the fleshy pearl above her core and massaging it. Her reaction was immediate; her eyes were wide open, and the volume of her moans increased as he continued his relentless attack. Her legs squeezed his torso harder as she neared her climax.

 

* * *

 

Her inner walls fluttered around his invasion like a moth that had gotten too close to the flame when their fevered rutting culminated, her cries getting louder and his thrusts becoming even faster and irregular. She was burning up like the proverbial moth, but in a much more pleasant way. 

Ecstasy overtook Mary, and for a moment she arched off the mattress, pressing her body impossibly closer to him as she felt him reach his own orgasm. The tattooed preacher above her groaned loudly as he came, finding his happy end inside his lover just moments after Mary found hers. She vaguely registered the feel of hot seed shooting into her core, not following the idea to its very end and getting lost in boneless, post-coital bliss halfway through the thought. 

 _Damn._ She practically collapsed onto the mattress, and her lover right on top of her, burying his face in her neck while panting heavily. Mary hadn’t realized how much she needed this. It was like the weeks and months of hardship, pain and tragedy had fallen off her shoulders all of a sudden. A much-needed escape from misery and hopelessness. She hadn’t felt this good for God knew how long. This stolen moment was what she needed all along, and she never would have guessed it would be Joseph of all people to be the one to grant it. In a bunker. After the apocalypse. Could life possibly get any crazier?

Not like she intended to tempt fate or anything.

The Deputy licked her puffy lips that had cracked somewhere along the rough ride. She blamed the Father for that, eager as he had been to devour her mouth. Here she was, cozy, sweaty and utterly happy as she lay in Joseph Seed’s arms. Completely exhausted but feeling more like herself than she had ever since first setting foot into Eden’s Gate compound that fateful night all those months ago.

They surely had come a long way since...

Mary couldn’t help the nostalgic smile that crept onto her lips. She touched her temple to his, caressing over his sweaty hair as they both tried to catch their breaths.

Was it wrong for them to no longer hate each other, after all this time, after everything they had done to each other, everything they had been through together? There was just no more space left for animosity. They’d tried it (extensively), and contrary to their first impressions...it clearly wasn’t working for them. They were not meant to hate each other; never were.

Their hatred had melted away over time as the need to keep each other alive had become essential to their own survival. That's what they were now - survivors who not just needed each other, but who happened to have discovered an unlikely sympathy...and even genuine _affection_ for each other. And they were survivors who had decided to be more than just that and to _live_ instead - intimacy included. 

Right and wrong had long since lost their meaning, now that the old world was no more. Who was left to judge them anyway?

God alone knew what tomorrow would bring, but this day...whatever else happened, it would remain sealed in her memory forever. 

 

* * *

 

They were so caught up in their happy little bubble of reality they completely forgot everything else around them, just breathing in each other and basking in each other’s body heat as their breathing slowly calmed down. It was only then that the coin suddenly dropped with the Deputy. They had totally forgotten something. Something important. Mary’s eyes widened as she realized it. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him agitatedly.

“Oh my God. OH MY GOD! Do you know what we forgot?”

Joseph was still catching his breath but raised his head from her shoulder to frown for a moment, searching her eyes with no small amount of alarm. Carefully and calmly he asked: “Forgot what?”

“Christmas! We never said ‘Merry Christmas’ all day long, not even once,” Mary laughed, nudging him with the tip of her nose, baffled at their forgetfulness. She dropped her head back into the pillows. They had celebrated it, sure. In more ways than one. Actually in three different, _very_ interesting ways. She couldn’t stop herself from blushing madly at that thought. 

But they had never said it out loud - until now. She smiled softly at him. 

“Merry Christmas, Joseph.” Mary pushed herself up to place a small peck on the corner of his mouth. “And thanks for the gift. Best gift I ever got for sure.”

 

* * *

 

The Father couldn’t help but chuckle with relief when he realized that she hadn’t made the same connection as him. He mirrored her smile, looking at her with a very peculiar look in his eyes. 

“Here’s to new beginnings. Merry Christmas to you, Mary.” Joseph kissed her back, not nearly as innocent as hers had been. She made no move to complain, only smiled lazily, clearly too tired to go for yet another round. Shame. But there was always going to be another day, and they had many of those ahead of them. Not to mention, many more Christmases.

He leaned over the Advent wreath on the chair beside her bed and blew out the candles.

 _New beginnings indeed,_ was the last thought traveling through his mind before he fell asleep with a worn out but utterly satisfied Mary in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from Rainfox88 & Ravenprincess. We hope this chapter was worth the long wait. We both really appreciate all of you following this story! And hope that the new year is fulfilling and special to all of you! See you in 2020! ;3


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